God's Goodness: The Power of Purpose

(In the photo are 28 of the many-more blessings God gave us in this place)

It was an unlikely spot for a miracle to begin: the curb of a Howard Johnson’s parking lot on a Friday night. I huddled on the cold concrete, oblivious to the flaming glory of autumn leaves above me, my husband inside the hotel oblivious to my desolate grief. My chest heaved with sobs as I cried out from an abyss of desperation, “Did you bring me here to abandon me?”

So much had gone wrong in the six weeks since the September morning I’d said good-bye to our older son and his fiancée, our family, our home of 28 years, our friends, and a dynamic church - aside from my husband and our younger son, everyone and everything that mattered to me. My husband’s new job took us 2,000 miles across the country. Our house sold in two hours – a hopeful balm to the loss I felt - and I considered the lightning-quick sale confirmation that God’s hand was guiding our move.

But was it? The 40 houses we’d looked at were at least $100,000 more than we had, and each one disappointing in some major way. The first house we saw had no closets, and things only got worse from there. We had signed a contract on one house and purchased new appliances to upgrade the kitchen, but a week later the owner decided not to sell and backed out of the contract. That left us with $5000 worth of appliances sitting in storage with no house to put them into... My husband’s new company rented us a house for one month, but what they didn’t realize was the owner of the house had rented it every weekend to “leaf peepers.” Friday nights we packed up and moved back to the hotel; on Sunday nights we moved back to the rental, where I washed dirty dishes, sheets and towels, cleaned the bathroom, and vacuumed before we could even unpack.

With no permanent address, we couldn’t enroll our son in school. I didn’t want to start him in one school, then move him to another in weeks or months. He felt uprooted enough! Then my husband found a condo we could rent in November in the town where we hoped to settle, so I met with the principal to convince him to let our son start school. We’d moved from a metropolitan area where our son’s school was ethically diverse to a tiny pocket of rural New England. A friend from our home church glowingly described their new home in Connecticut as a “Leave It to Beaver” neighborhood, and I drank in the hope that our new town would be the same. But during the first week in his new school, a girl in our son’s class announced, “You’re from somewhere else. That makes you different, so we aren’t going to be your friends.” And that’s how the school year went. Our son, the befriender of the outsider, the compassionate kid who made hurting children feel accepted, was now an outcast and devastated. Every day I drove him to the small school nestled in the lovely valley, and every day he battled rejection and tried to make a friend.

So I sat rocking on that cold curb, anticipating mountains of cleaning on Sunday night, everything I loved stripped away from me, every hope for happiness seemingly strangled, and wept bitterly. Through sobs I looked up and cried, “God, I can’t do this! Please send us back home!”

“If only . . . .” I whispered, “If I could see a purpose . . . . I could live with all of this if there was a reason.”

At our 10,000-member home church I wrote books with the senior pastor and led groups in a vibrant women’s ministry; our son loved the lively, creative Sunday School program. Now we were looking for any Bible-believing church. Earlier that week I’d called the pastor of yet another congregation to get directions to his church. “No,” he replied to my questions, “we don’t have a women’s ministry or a youth group. My sons and one other boy are the only children in the church older than preschoolers.” Most of the church’s 60 members were college students.

“Oh, great,” I thought ruefully as I picked myself up off the curb in the gathering dark and my mounting gloom, “I told him we’d visit. Now we’ll have to go through with it just out of courtesy.”

Sunday we took our seats on folding chairs at a local library. An older couple behind us tapped our shoulders, introduced themselves, and said, “We’d love for you to come to our house for lunch after church.” Our son’s eyes met mine, silently pleading, “Please, no – can’t we go to MacDonald’s?” But we accepted. It couldn’t hurt to meet people who were friendly!

Loretta and Dana were gracious and genuine. Over lunch in their kitchen, my husband mentioned that he worked for a Japanese-owned firm. Loretta said their son had worked in Japan. Thinking for a moment, she added, “I know a Japanese woman here who’d like to be in a Bible study, but she’s uncomfortable with her English. Her husband works here, so she comes for three months, then returns to Japan for three months. I think,” she added, "they live in the town where you’ll be living next month. Would you be willing to have a Bible study with her?” At least it would give me something constructive to do, so I took the woman’s phone number.

I had no idea I was poised on the brink of a miracle.

“Coincidentally” this woman lived in the complex we’d soon move into. In fact, Hiroko lived two buildings down, and her husband was president of the company my husband worked for! “Coincidentally” we’d visited the church I wanted no part of, in front of the couple who could connect me with Hiroko and my miracle of purpose. Hope rushed in as a door opened for me into new understanding. Now I knew why the contract fell through on the house we bought appliances for! I knew why we were renting a too-small condo. I knew we had a church home. I knew God had a purpose for me and meaning for this move!

Incredibly, God moved us across the country to answer the prayer of a woman from the other side of the world. Hard as it was for our son and me, we were answers to prayer. God’s hand was in every detail of this move, and if that was true, his goodness was there for our family.

This foreign land for both Hiroko and me became a place of miracles. The next year our son made good friends at the regional junior high who didn’t know he was from “somewhere else.” We found a house with closets. I helped start a women’s ministry with precious friends who became like family.

God’s miraculous answer to my anguished cry on the curb of the Howard Johnson's was not to send me home, but to plant my heart in the purpose he had for me in a new home. This, too, is God's character: he gives our lives meaning that gives our lives joy, no matter who or where or in what circumstance we are. Not all miracles of healing involve your body. Some miracles – perhaps the most powerful and lasting - heal your heart. That healing is God's heart for you today.

"For I know the plans that I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11

A " . . . but . . ." to pray:

God, I've misjudged you when I have only seen difficult circumstances, not the potential for meaning, purpose and miracles even in difficult situations. Sometimes you are hard to discern, BUT I believe and delight that you love to make me an answer to prayer and give my life meaning and purpose that make even hard places and circumstances become places of blessing. You are great, and you are good! Amen!

Your own " . . . but . . ." to move:

God, I look around me and see _____________________ in my life, not goodness, BUT I know you long to use me to answer the cry of someone's heart, and I know in being that answer, I'll __________________________ and you'll fill and strengthen my heart, too.

A Miracle-working God

Rose Jackson© 1/2009

The miracles began to unfold when the problem became a crisis. I got the phone call on Monday afternoon. “Mom, Emily’s bleeding. They’re evacuating her to Hong Kong.” He paused, the anguish breaking Eric’s voice,” I don’t know if Evan and I will be able to go with her.” A cold jolt ran down my back and momentarily paralyzed my breathing. “I’m on my way,” I exhaled, my thoughts speeding off in dozens of directions. How? Where? Who could help?

Emily and Eric were working and studying Asia. Expecting their second child, our daughter-in-law was 29 weeks into the pregnancy. After episodes of spotting in her first trimester, things had been going fine. Until now.

Emily had started spotting again on Sunday, so she and Eric went to the hospital while their three-year-old son Evan stayed with friends. Things took a drastic turn on Monday, and the hospital staff told Emily and Eric they weren’t equipped to handle such a premature birth. Both the baby and Emily could die. The closest hospitals equipped for premature births were 350 miles away in Hong Kong. How could they get there in time to save the baby’s life? At this point of desperation, when none of us could do anything but pray, God delivered miracles.

Looking back on them now, it’s almost like peering over God’s shoulder as he marked off a checklist:

Make a corporate jet “coincidentally” available and close enough to fly in.
Make the jet big enough for Eric and Evan to go along.
Connect a colleague in Hong Kong quickly with an ambulance to meet them there.

Getting to Hong Kong was just the tip of the iceberg of impossibilities. Which hospital? Was there a hospital with a bed available and staff available for whatever might happen? Where could Eric and Evan stay indefinitely on their meager resources? Who would take care of Evan?

On the other side of the world, I bought an airline ticket while my mind whirled with my own questions. How could we afford this? What about local currency? A miracle itself, my passport had just come back in record time the week before, but did I need a visa to get into Hong Kong? Where would Eric and Evan be? How could I find them?

“Call Julia” flashed through my mind. We’d met Julia six years earlier when we lived briefly on the East Coast. She was from Hong Kong. Her parents still lived there. Could one of them possibly meet me at the airport? Was Julia even home? I was set to fly out at five in the morning. Making a connection would take a miracle. God’s checklist:

Move us to New England in 1997 so we meet Julia.
Be sure Julia is at home on Monday night.
Ensure Julia’s mother is available and willing to meet me at the airport.
Provide a phone number where Julia’s mother can contact Eric and find out where he is.
Send Emily to the hospital with the best neonatal intensive care unit in all of East Asia.
Provide an affordable apartment in Hong Kong for four weeks.

“What-if’s” swirled through my thoughts. How would I recognize Julia’s mother Linda, whom I’d met only once? I tucked Julia’s wedding photo in my carry-on, held my husband close, and tried to get a few hours of fitful sleep. Thirty-four hours later across the Pacific Ocean, I saw a small hand waving a sign that read “Rose.” Amid a sea of people I thankfully hugged Linda, who had taken a taxi, bus and subway across two islands far out of her way to meet me. One hour later I leaped out of a taxi to embrace Evan and Eric in the middle of a narrow, dark street between canyons of buildings. Eric smiled and said, “Welcome to Hong Kong . . . Grandma!”

Born by emergency C-section, little Elsa weighed two pounds fifteen ounces. Doctors guardedly told Eric and Emily to expect Elsa to be in the NICU until her original due date, even if she didn’t develop complications. Now our needs were less critical, but real, nonetheless. After the first four weeks, where could we stay that would be close enough to allow Emily and Eric to make twice-daily breast milk runs to the hospital? How could they afford rent when Eric already had paid the hospital thousands of dollars? How could Eric and Emily continue their studies without their books? The miracles continued:

Connect Eric and Emily’s Hong Kong colleague with a friend who worked for an elder in a local church.
Through that that church provide an apartment, rent-free, for Eric and Emily for two weeks.
Make another apartment available rent-free for six weeks beyond that.
Bring friends through Hong Kong with Eric and Emily’s books and some of Evan’s best-loved toys.
Protect Elsa and keep her infection- and complication-free.

Three weeks passed, and we had so much to be thankful for at Thanksgiving that we weren’t too disappointed by our oven that didn’t work and the turkey dinner we couldn’t afford at a local restaurant. We were content to find turkey sandwiches at a nearby deli, but God, who had pulled off huge miracles for us already, had two small, delightful ones still on his list. At the church we attended the Sunday before Thanksgiving, a genial woman with twinkling eyes turned around to offer, “Would you like to come to our apartment for Thanksgiving dinner? It will only be chicken, but I have a can of cranberry sauce!” Astonished, we delightedly accepted. After church, one of the members told this woman she’d bring over a complete turkey dinner from the outrageously-priced restaurant, where she worked! God must have winked as he checked off:

Provide a turkey dinner with all the trimmings, down to pumpkin pie.
Supply for free a small Christmas tree complete with lights and ornaments.

The most amazing miracle left the NICU two weeks later, and one week after that, one month ahead of schedule, little Elsa Faith was released from the hospital, well on her way to becoming the bright, beautiful, unstoppable toddler she is today.

Is it a miracle when friends drop their own agendas to make critically needed things happen that you can’t arrange or do for yourself? Is it a miracle when strangers go out of their way to meet your needs, both the desperate and the simply encouraging ones? Is it a miracle when you’re moved across the country to meet someone who will fill a unique need in years to come? Is it a miracle when the cells of a tiny body grow healthy and strong despite being thrust suddenly into a hostile environment?

Technically these extraordinary, ordinary provisions - even taken together - may not be miracles, but they certainly felt like miracles to Emily, Eric, Evan and me! This much I do know: when my loved ones or I am in formidable, urgent, grave need that’s beyond our capacity to fill, I’ll take my miracles any way God wants to conceive, create, and deliver them!

If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. . . . For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made. . . . your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! Psalm 139: 9, 13, 16-17

A ". . . but . . ." to pray: Loving Father, so often when trouble strikes, my first reaction is to cry out to you, "Why are you allowing this?" and fly into panic mode, BUT again and again you have proved yourself faithful and mighty to provide everything my loved ones and I need. The world is not too large, no emergency is too difficult, AND no heart-cry is too insignificant for you to care, provide, heal, and bring victory. I will remember that in the needs I face today. In Jesus' name, Amen!

Your own ". . . but . . ." to move/pray: Loving and living Father, I fear that ___________________, BUT I choose to put my confidence in your compassion and your power. trusting you will _________________________. Thanks that you will meet all my needs in amazing ways - and I surrender my expectations to your greater wisdom and limitless love. Amen!

Two Brown Shoes, Take Three: God's goodness

Rose Jackson © 2/ 2009

(see first post "Two Brown Shoes Don't Make a Pair" to read about my brown boot goof)

What I believe about God’s character is the third application of my “two brown shoes” mistake – and I’m preaching to myself today, swimming in the same sea of difficult circumstances that many of you are struggling to stay afloat in. Looking at those two mismatched shoes, I realized that circumstances tempt me to believe lies about God’s character and intent toward me and my loved ones:

“Why are you dashing our son’s dreams?”
“Have you abandoned us?”
“You gave my friend success, but not me. You must love her more than you love me.”
“I pray for others, and they receive miracles of healing – but you must not want me healed.”

Do you hear in these an echo of your own perplexed, hurting heart? When I take a closer look at my outbursts, I recognize what I’m really saying is, “God, you don’t love me/us. Your love is inconstant. You show partiality. You withhold your goodness. Your word can’t be trusted.”

My image of God in hard times bears striking differences to what I believe about God when my life is going smoothly. In prosperous, healthier, joyful times I gladly agree with the biblical writers who rejoiced in God's character:

By you, O Lord, are a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness. (Ps. 86:15)

He is the Rock, his works are perfect, and all his ways are just. A faithful God who does no wrong, upright and just is he. (Deut. 32:4)

For the LORD is good and his love endures forever; his faithfulness continues through all generations. (Ps 100:5)

Taste and see that the LORD is good. . . . (Ps 34:8)

Taste and see . . . . I think of my neighbor’s Crawfish Etoufeé. Many years ago, after eating a disgusting, multi-legged slice of a marine invertebrate during a trip to Asia, I made a resolution never to eat anything with less than two or more than four legs, so when my neighbor recently brought over a steaming bowl of her signature Louisiana chowder, I cringed. I knew it couldn’t possibly taste good. Too many legs!

Since our neighbor had gone to so much trouble to make it, though, what could I do but set it on the table and partake of her hospitality? I carefully tipped all but two crawfish off the spoon and back into the dish before ladling a serving onto my plate. Tentatively I bit into one, and . . . it actually didn’t taste bad. It didn’t taste wonderful, either – it’s the crawfish’s art-gum eraser texture that throws me - but the non-crawfish part of the chowder was quite tasty. My husband and our son enjoyed the crawfish, though, and happily ate the rest of my share, which proves two things: first, one man’s gastronomic challenge is another man’s gusto, and second, there is goodness in things outside of my definition of “good.” To put it another way, God’s goodness may not always taste the way I think it should, but it still is goodness.


Looking back through my journals to so many of the troubling times when I couldn’t see any sign of God’s goodness, again and again I find good. We wanted two children, and timing them four years apart so we wouldn’t have two kids in college at the same time just made good economic sense to me. However, it took seven years for me to conceive our second child: seven years of prayers and hope repeatedly dashed, till I almost gave up hoping, before Ethan came along. Our sons were born eleven years apart – and in the year our younger son graduated from high school, our older son received his Ph.D. God answered my prayer with a yes; I just hadn’t realized that eleven years would fit the timetable of my request perfectly! After Ethan’s birth, I also realized that any other child we might have conceived would not have been Ethan - a creative, compassionate, intelligent, honest, giving, loving, loyal, hard-working young man of faith and vision. go through the boy Scout Oath, and that's Ethan. God had a specific purpose for that specific combination of DNA that is Ethan. That is goodness; that is love; that is faithfulness. The seven-year heartache that became a spoonful of goodness is the empathy I now have for women struggling with infertility.

Again and again I remember crises and wrenching situations that became avenues of blessing on down the road: a treasured necklace lost, a lost diamond found, and acknowledging that the God who was good when I found the one was the same good God when I didn’t find the other. My husband laid off and out of work for six months - and a loving God who connected him with a job better than he applied for. A cross-country move I didn’t want to make away from everyone and everything I cherished – and through that frustrating move when I thought he had abandoned me, God twice met desperate needs my kids and I would have years later. That’s goodness. That’s faithfulness. That’s love.

I think back to those evidences of God’s faithful, loving goodness even while I wonder as my emotions struggle with our retirment funds cut in half with retirement just on the horizon and this week’s discouraging news for Ethan's dream job . . . is it God who is inconstant, or my emotions and my thinking that don’t line up with truth and can’t be trusted? I open my Bible to Psalm 89, to the words of another Ethan, “the Ezrahite,” and I stand on this “. . . BUT . . .” for me and for our own Ethan:

“I will sing of the LORD’s great love forever . . . . I will declare that your love stands firm forever, that you established your faithfulness in heaven itself . . . . Blessed are those who have learned to acclaim you, who walk in the light of your presence, O LORD. . . . For you are their glory and strength . . . . ”

Today I make a choice to believe God’s character, not the economy, not my arthritis, not the circumstances around us, and I will walk in those two matching shoes BELIEVING God’s love, kindness, compassion, and power till I get to the place where I can turn and see we’ve been surrounded by his goodness all the while.

A “. . . but . . . “ to pray: Loving Father, I look at all the problems, discouraging news, financial losses, and uncertainties ahead of me, BUT I trust that you love us, you never forsake me, your will is for our good, and you are faithfully working out blessing even when I can’t see you. Thank you that I’ll look back in a few days, weeks, or years and rejoice in what you are doing to work all of this "chowder" together for my good through your steadfast, mighty wisdom, provision, and love. I WILL taste and see your goodness! Amen!

Your own “. . . but . . .”: Loving Father, I’m so confused when I see ___________ in my life today, BUT I choose to believe you are _____________ and you love me faithfully. "I am confident of this: I will see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living." (Psalm 27:13) I will wait for you, LORD; I will be strong and take heart and wait for you, LORD. (Ps 27:14)

Two Brown Shoes, Take Two

I intimated that I found three applications for what I learned from my non-matching brown shoes escapade. Read the previous entry for the gory details of my shoe-buying goof. Suffice it here to say that I accidentally ended up purchasing two different brown short lace-up boots, but didn't recognize my mistake till I'd worn them for roughly one month!

Beyond "no lie is of the truth" and the importance of making sure my thoughts line up with the whole truth, I recognized almost immediately that all too often my "walk" doesn't line up with that of Jesus. I may do the kinds of actions you'd expect from a "What would Jesus do?" good-deed-doing person . . . but that doesn't mean my life is even close to a match with His.

Case in point (and isn't there always a recent one handy?) is last spring's battle with weeds in our front yard. I remember this life lesson afresh, as January rains have brought their usual crop of weeds springing up in otherwise rock-hard, "desert landscaped" aka rock-covered ground. Our neighbors just never seem to get around to weeding along our mutual property line. In their defense, they both work full-time - a thought that did not escape me as I surveyed the two-feet-tall sprouts going to seed on their side of the line last spring. I'd just spent an hour weeding our side of the front yards, with the beginnings of a stiff neck to show for it, and as I sat doing neck rolls on my side of the line, I realized that all my weeding was for naught as soon as one gentle breeze spread those seeds our direction.

What to do? GET RID OF THOSE WEEDS! "They certainly aren't going to," I muttered as I unkinked my way upright and strode over to their side. I began pulling up the sinister spikes, which turned out to be easier than I expected, given the good length of stem on which to get a solid purchase. Down from their fence, around the parked car, under the parked car, out to the sidewalk . . . . To the casual observer, I was doing a good deed weeding my neighbor's yard. I heard the "Ahem . . ." about the time I reached under the front bumper of the car to grab a handful of plant, thinking, "They could spend an occasional weekend working in the yard instead of off riding their ATV's. . . ." Grumbling intercepted, I recognized the voice: that still, small voice of the Holy Spirit that intrudes upon my ruminations. "What you're doing is fine . . . but your motivation is anything but God-honoring and neighbor-blessing."

Of course I realized that was completely true, and no matter how it might have looked even to the neighbors, I wasn't doing them a favor out of love. It was pretty ugly weed-pulling. As awful as I sound in these self-revelations on this blog, I really do want a heart more like Jesus, and it was to that desire that I turned my attitude. "But they . . . " gave way to,"Transplant your love in me, Jesus. No matter how they choose to spend their time, I'm going to secretly bless them. They may not even notice the weeds are gone, but that doesn't matter." The great encouragement is that God wants this transformation in me even more than I do, and he promises to make it happen:

"I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit in you and move you to follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws.: Ezekiel 36:26-27

That passage goes on to enumerate blessings and provision God promises his people. Oh, do I want the blessing of a warm and beating "heart of flesh" walking out of love for everyone whose life mine intersects! Wouldn't that be wonderful? Admit it - you do, too, and let out a big sigh of longing and gratitude.

I get to choose: will I do the right things out of the wrong heart, souring my own day in the process and doing Heaven-knows-what to my brain chemistry, or will I do the right thing out of the right heart, Jesus' heart, protecting my own heart in the process?

There they are in the yard again this spring . . . . Where will my heart be?

A " . . . but . . . " for you to pray: Jesus, I don't like the difference I feel when my heart is in the wrong place. I fight this battle so often, BUT thank you that you promise to give me a new heard and your own Spirit! Thank you that you are SO patient with me when I wear the wrong "shoe", loving enough to point out the differences I don't see, forgiving me, and enabling me to have a blessing heart in all I do. Amen!

Your own " . . . but . . . " : Jesus, I see that I'm not walking like you when I _______________, BUT I believe your promise to change my heart and I know I'll see your change in ________________________________________. Amen!

Two Brown Shoes Don't Always Make a Pair

Rose Jackson © 1/2009

The first of three reflections on my shoe goof. Ah, the subtle but critical differences there can be between reality and our perception of reality! (and I'm preaching to myself even as I post this) I sense how important spotting those differences is now that so many of us face extremely difficult circumstances. This post in no way minimizes the losses many of you have endured and now deal with. On the contrary, I hope/pray it can help you find your way through these times.

My heart raced as my feet leaped over piles of shoes and my mind leaped over “to-do’s” on my mental list. It was the typical hectic December Saturday - the day of the company Christmas party - and we had three places to be at the same time, on opposite sides of town. We had early morning appointments at our chiropractor's office twenty-five miles on the other side of town, so I calculated that, if I was quick about it, I could hit two shopping centers on the way home, squeezing boot and jacket shopping in between our appointments, feeding the family lunch, and running an afternoon errand. Besides, I had my husband with me to help bag the quarry. I tried to maximize my shopping time and enlisted my reluctant husband in hunting for brown ankle-high, pointed toe boots –that seemed straight-forward enough, and leather boots afforded the appearance of a more manly pursuit - while I searched the racks of the crowded bargain basement for a jacket to wear with my dress for the Christmas party. The jacket was a necessity because the dress I was going to wear that evening (which my husband picked out) revealed more than I wanted his boss and co-workers to know about me!

First store, no luck on either count: one pair of boots, too small, no jacket. The clock was ticking. Next store, the outlet-outlet-outlet called Last Chance, because they don't exchange or refund anything, and again we split up. I untied my tennis shoes to save time, just in case my husband found anything. I scan the racks and come up empty, but my husband spots a pair of boots. I whip off my shoes and shove the boots on, lacing them just far enough up to be sure they fit. Got it! We zipped (relatively speaking, given the holiday crowds) through the checkout and on to another store for our remaining target, the elusive jacket. My husband’s grimace cried out that his heart was no longer in the pursuit. I quickly spotted a jacket the right shade of midnight blue, whipped it off the rack, flung it over my sweater to check that it fit, disregarded the fact that it was short-sleeved and I would still be chilly for the sake of being adequately covered, and we both called it a successful hunt.

It wasn't until several weeks later, after I'd worn the boots repeatedly, that I noticed the left didn't feel as comfortable as the right one. Something about the cuff bothered my left ankle, but I ignored the discomfort till I got home. As I took off my right shoe, then bent over to untie the left, I made a startling discovery.

They weren't the same shoe! Oh, the boots were the same size, the color was the same rusty brown, the pointed toes were the same, the heels were the same height, and the round laces were the same, but there the similarity ended – and obviously. The right shoe was top-stitched with a single row of stitching outside the eyelets. The left was top-stitched with a double row inside the eyelets. The right had a cuff, which was what I'd wanted, but the left had a padded top like a hiking boot. Good grief! My husband didn't notice that when he picked them up, and, even more unbelievably, I hadn't noticed the differences when I tried them on!

How could I have been so oblivious when I bought them, and how could I have worn them several times without noticing? I felt ridiculous. How many people had noticed me wearing two different shoes? I couldn't return them, so I was stuck with two boots that now would embarrass me every time I wore them! I wondered (as I do anymore when something really weird happens to me) what lesson I could glean from this incident, and it came to me quite clearly: my perceptions aren't necessarily the same as reality, or, ". . . no lie comes from the truth" (1 John 2:21). A lie may resemble the truth, it may feel reasonably close or even comfortable, but it's not the same thing as the truth.

I recognized an application right away because of the turmoil in the lives of three of my friends dealing with depression, and the chaos in my own life because of a struggle with incredible stress that fall. We were all listening to and buying into lies that sounded like truth. I easily saw my friends’ errors. They were saying things like "There's no reason to go on living. I'll lose my job. I'll never work again. My friends will leave me. God listens to other people's prayers, but not to mine." My own lies, like deer in a shadow-dappled thicket, were harder to spot against the background of my own stresses and time-pressured circumstances: lies like, "I can't handle all these responsibilities. If one more person needs me for anything, I'm going to explode. This pressure is going to give me a nervous breakdown.” After a particularly hectic day substitute teaching, I snarled a lie to my husband and children: “I don’t have the energy to be ‘nice’ to one more person today, so back off.”

As I compared the two “shoes” of reality and my friends' and my perceptions, the truths common to both were that life was difficult and we all did have limitations. The color and the toe of the shoes of reality and our perceptions were the same, so to speak, but there all accurate resemblance between perception and reality ended. What was the reality? What was true? My friends and I all had loved ones, co-workers and friends who cared about us and wouldn’t abandon us just because we were struggling - that was true. My friend who feared she’d lose her job because of her health issues was bright, capable, and highly skilled in her profession, someone any employer would value - true. She would get well and work again - true. And she did! We needed to line our perceptions up with these truths in our lives, too.

Even though our issues were different, my friends and I alike needed friends, family members, and honest counselors who would love us enough to speak and uncover these truths in our lives. Our part in the hunt for honest reality was to compare the truth to what we were telling ourselves, accept the whole truth, and stop telling ourselves lies. I also found truths like these in the Bible that encouraged me to handle my personal stresses in healthier, honest ways:

For God did not give us a spirit of timidity and fawning fear – but [He has given us a spirit] of power and of love and of a calm and well-balanced mind and discipline and self-control. (2 Timothy 1:7, The Amplified New Testament)

I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength. (Philippians 4:13)

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you." (Jeremiah 29:11-12)

Like the discomfort of my mismatched boots, I realize my own level of mental and emotional agitation , and more often the level I can see in my loved ones, are fairly good indicators of a discrepancy between the whole truth of my circumstances and what I'm perceiving/believing about them. I see, too, that fear obscures truth and generates many of the lies I've believed. In his book "Ruthless Trust," author Brennan Manning writes, "As long as we withhold internal consent to these varied faces of fear, they are no cause for alarm, because they are not voluntary . . . we can overpower them with a simple and deliberate act of trust." I need to trust God's truth.

Since the brown shoes episode, I’m trying to do better at spotting lies in my thinking – or at least to listen objectively when my husband points out inconsistencies – so I don’t wear lies too long. That proved essential to my mental health when my husband was laid off and out of work for six months. (More about that in a future post.) Since my husband and I are soon facing the anxiety of retirement in an uncertain economy, an empty nest, separation from a beloved part of our family who live on the other side of the globe, and since I recently learned that depression runs in my mother’s family, I’m on a campaign to intentionally, proactively ferret out fear, lies and negativity in my attitudes and mental dialog. My perspective matters tremendously. I don’t need to make the real challenges of the coming months and years more difficult by what seems like, but isn’t, reality-based truth-filled thinking.

I bought new brown boots and made sure the left one matched the right, but in case you’re wondering, I did keep my mismatched pair as a humorous reminder to look for and believe the whole truth. Much to my amazement and relief as I’ve shared my shoe gaff over the years, I hear others say they’ve done the same thing. I suspect that, particularly in stressful or difficult times like these, we all need to take a closer, truthful look at both our shoes and our suppositions!

A " . . . but . . ." for you to pray: God, I look at the times ahead and feel fears of financial trouble, health problems, and loss. That's what the world is saying, too, BUT you promise you have plans to prosper me, to give me a future and a hope. Help me examine my perceptions, expose the lies I've believed, and choose to line my perceptions up with truth.

Your own ". . . but . . ." Father, right now I fear ____________________________, but I know that you __________________________________________.

DO do what you need to do in me

Rose Jackson © 9-11-2008

(This is my final post in the mind category. Can you tell what I struggle with most? Pictured are the two sources of my consternation/inspiration in this morning's word from God to me - no, not my husband and our son!)

I’m just not the bling and frou-frou kind of girl. I do like to get dressed up, and I enjoy wearing jewelry and perfume, but I’m just not a ruffles and matching purse/matching shoes/matching nail polish/matching bling woman. I’m not even sure I’d feel comfortable doing that if I could afford to (which I can’t). I hear from God in analogies, and while I admire other speakers who get to deliver the pretty boxes with ribbons and bows kinds of messages, God never seems to speak to me through pretty, girlie things. I “hear” him through tent stakes, roller coasters, and cheese burgers. Nevertheless, I was surprised this morning by what God used to teach me something: dog doo-doo.

All I intended to do in the yard this morning was take advantage of rain-dampened ground to pull pesky spurge, the bane of my gardening, from the back yard. Weeding is unpleasant enough, but as I crouched down working my way beyond the orange tree, I came to a huge patch of spurge smack in the middle of a field of doggie doo. Aargh! I don’t dislike dogs, but when our son wanted a pet ten years ago, I voted for a hamster – they only live a couple of years, and they don’t shed all over the house. My husband staunchly vetoed my vote, asserting, “If we’re going to get a pet, it’s only going to be a dog.” This is the otherwise intelligent man who innocently remarked, “Gosh, honey, I didn’t stop to think you’d be the one home with the dog all day,” when we were housebreaking our adorable Springer Spaniel puppy Katie.

Flash forward through ten years of me brushing, feeding, medicine giving, ear cleaning, ball throwing, bone cooking, daily walking, hair vacuuming, and doo-doo picking up. Yes, our son used to do some of the walking and picking up, but he moved away to college four years ago. Yes, my husband occasionally cleans up the back yard and walks the two dogs (we now have our older son’s dog also) maybe two evenings a week and sometimes on Sunday mornings, and yes, he’s the one who works to buy the dog chow and pay the vet bills, but this morning, as usual, I’m the one whose nose is eighteen inches away from the recycled dog chow covering the back yard, and I’m not happy about it.

Two thoughts, “We could hire someone to do the yard work but no, we can’t afford it,” and my habitual complaint, “Why does it have to be me picking up the poo? He has time in the evenings to do a little bit if he really cared. I’m not the one who wanted a dog!” had only briefly, sarcastically flashed through my miffed mind when, on their heels like Katie after a pigeon, came the thought, "Even if you hired someone to pull the weeds AND pick up the doo-doo, it wouldn’t take care of the real issue. What stinks the most is not the doo-doo in the yard, but the. . . .” I knew that idea didn't come from me! God patiently humors me a lot, and I recognized his heart in the thought. Hiring someone to clean the yard would still leave me with doo-doo in my heart, and a stinky attitude is not what God wants for me, or what I really want myself.

“Okay, I’ve tried the positive thinking thing before," I countered. "Cleaning up the dog doo is a way to show our son I love him, because he loves the dog. That gets me through three minutes of picking up, maybe. Jesus, I need you to really get hold of my heart in this. This morning I need more than just a cheerful veneer, because I want this change to be lasting. I don’t want weekly deposits of resentment in my heart. I want a clean heart more than I want a weed-free, poo-free yard."

God gave me the thought, "Bless your husband as you pick up the poo. Yes, I know you've tried before, but this morning make it not just words of dry obedience, but truly bless him out of what is unpleasant for you." So I did. As I looked up from my hands, I saw opportunity all around me for plenty of blessing for his hands! I prayed, “I don't like what my hands are in right now, but bless the work of his hands today. He works so hard for us. Give him satisfying work to do with his hands, because I know how stressed he feels doing nothing but paperwork. I know I've made some stinky choices he has had to 'pick up.' This mess reminds me that he hangs in there with me when I'm not so pleasant to deal with.”

I honestly felt a shift in my attitude. That shouldn't have surprised me, because the Bible is filled with exhortaton like this in 1 Peter 3: 9 to bless others:

"Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult, but with blessing, because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing. "

God moved through my willing-to-change heart. If I bless my husband's hands as mine are doing something I don’t want to do, then this doo-doo can become a springboard (a Springer board?) for God's healing change in me.

Can you guess what I heard from my husband that evening? "I had a great day today! I actually got to sit in the cockpit and play with the radio. Maybe next week I'll get a ride to check things out!" My gosh, God blessed him even as I was praying. Retrospectively, that made the doo-doo duty . . . while not pleasant, even something better: rewarding. I could almost hear the laughter in Heaven. Gosh, God is fun! Why don't I remember that in the middle of my messes?

Has someone else made choices that leave you with doo-doo to deal with? Gosh, how often do I repay not evil, but just plain annoyance, with evil thoughts and insult?

Please don’t hear what I’m not saying! I’m not promoting co-dependent behavior or cleaning up other people’s messes and removing consequences of poor choices from them. I'm talking about my heart, your heart - how we handle the fallout of choices other people make that impact our lives in burdensome, frustrating, irritating, even painful ways. Society often tells us the answer is to get rid of the doo-dropping person. Sometimes, and in cases of abuse, that is the safe and appropriate thing to do. For most of the messes we deal with, though, that isn't a good, healthy, or effective solution, and it doesn't deal with the heart issues that are left behind. Sometimes you can’t change what you have to deal with or get around it: you just have to pick up the doo-doo. But you can choose to bless, which can change you as well.

I can’t get rid of Katie; our son would be crushed, and I’d actually miss her, too. As God revealed to me this morning, though, Katie isn’t the critical issue. It’s my heart that matters to him, and thank God it does! My husband and I can work out the clean-up schedule . . . or I can keep blessing him as Katie drops me reminders!

I write this to share hope and faith with one of you who needs God’s transforming power to turn something stinky in your life into an avenue of blessing and healing for your heart attitude today. I’m confident no women’s ministry director will ever ask me to speak on this topic . . . so this is the only place you'll hear it.

Maybe one of these days yet God will give me a message through a pretty box with ribbons, or jewelry, or nail polish?

A “ . . . but . . . ” to move: Father, as much as I want to, I don’t have the persistent commitment in myself to change my stinky attitudes - and I admit that sometimes I don't even want to. I’m quick to spot the doo-doo from other people’s choices and often blind to the messes in my heart, BUT you are kind enough to both reveal them and set me on the path to healing and peace IN mind. I don't want to live in denial of what's going on in my life; I want your sound mind and wholesome, positive attitude in everything and with everyone I deal with, even when those things and people don't change.Thank you that you DO do in me all it takes to transform _________ and ME into an avenue of blessing!

Your own “ . . . but . . . ” to move: Tender Father, I struggle so with a bad attitude over ___________________________ BUT I trust you, and I know you will __________________.

Roller Coster Mama

(The photo isn't me on a coaster, but I already used that one on my earlier "move your . . . but . . . " post. The Tower of Terror ride behind us is thrilling, though!)


Somewhere between the floor falling away and my body spinning in 360 degree loops as if I were a towel in a clothes dryer, I heard God saying, “This is like your life, isn’t it?” I had to agree. My father’s death from Alzheimer’s, followed in rapid succession by my aunt dying of the same disease, my mother’s unexpected cancer surgery, and our sudden move across the country – yes, my life was a roller coaster. My thoughts flashed back 30 years to the night my husband and I were riding the “Wild Mouse,” a short, fast, jarring little roller coaster, at a local amusement park. The ride operator, a friend of my husband, kept sending us around the ride again and again.

Then it was funny. “But, God, that is like my life now,” I acknowledged, “and now it’s not funny.”
Instantly I realized it wasn’t these major problems that were keeping me in a constant state of turmoil; it was my reaction to the smaller, daily stresses in my life. Can anyone else identify? Take a typical day:

It’s 7:40, and I need to drive Ethan to school by 7:50, then get 45 miles across town to take my mother grocery shopping, run errands along the way to make it worth the time and gas involved, start home before 2:30 so I can use the carpool lane on the freeway, make dinner, and get to Bible study that evening with a dessert to share. But this is the day the garage door opener won’t open. No panic yet. Between the two of us, Ethan and I manage to shove it open. Mental note: drive back home to call garage door company before hitting the freeway. Pray with son and kiss him goodbye. Drive back home, make phone call, and leave a message for Chip to let him know what’s going on. Remember to stop by store I don’t usually frequent to get almond butter and rice milk that Mom can’t get on the west side of town. Hit the freeway. Make it intact to Mom’s, to learn that her medical monitor just arrived and she can’t understand the directions. Help her put on the monitor, run test recording, call the monitoring company, re-write directions for Mom so she can do this on her own, take her to lunch, as it’s now noon, take her to store. Realize it’s next to impossible to start home by 2:30, so kiss carpool lane goodbye, gird my loins for battle, and kiss Mom goodbye. Drive to discount store for errand, find what I need, discover they only have two checkout lanes open and lines a mile long. Look at watch and remember that son did not take house key, so he can’t get into the house if he gets home before I do. Madly put everything back (what would Jesus do?) and dash out of store, into the freeway frenzy, to hopefully get home before son does.

And so on . . . . Have you been on that ride lately?

Meanwhile, careening through the "heartline rolls" on the real roller coaster, I cringed in double conviction, knowing that for a Christian, how I handle stress impacts my discipleship and my witness as well as my body. I took a deep breath as we plunged toward the ground on the aptly-named “Mind Eraser.” Hope filled my mind as breath filled my lungs. I already knew how to manage the stress of riding real roller coasters. Could these same skills apply, as God’s question to me seemed to suggest, to coping with stress in everyday life?


Learning to handle thrill rides was essential for me because our younger son Ethan wanted to become a roller coaster designer – and he was serious about it. That meant we rode a lot of roller coasters. The problem, though, was that age, neck problems, and – I admit it – fear displaced my joy in riding roller coasters long before Ethan was born. I sincerely want to participate in what means so much to my child, so I have been forced to look for personal “survival skills” to help me endure these stresses with peace instead of panic.


Five principles that help me manage my stress on roller coasters have proved to be effective with stress in everyday life, too, and I firmly believe they can reduce the negative impact stress has on our minds, relationships, and bodies, as well as on the reflection of our faith. In the interests of blog space, I'll quickly summarize what I usually speak for an hour on, hoping you'll see the connections without lengthy explanation:

• Secure yourself in the restraints

God designed restraints to keep us safe and secure through the stresses and curves of life. Like the ride designers, God has built simplicity into his safety systems.

Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. The second is this: Love your neighbor as yourself. Mark 12: 30-31


Did you ever think of this command as a two-point safety system to protect your life and your relationships? Think for a minute about what your life would look like if you just “buckled up” with these two do’s: love God and love others. Living outside of love in resentment, anger, judgment and bitterness is just like ignoring the seat belt and standing up on a thrill ride: it sets us up for accidents when stress loops our lives. Lives and relationships could be saved from injury or destruction if we keep our words and actions inside the vehicle of a loving attitude at all times, even when we're stressed.


• Brace your feet or cross your ankles


When I said, “My foot is slipping,” your love, O Lord, supported me. When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul. Psalm 94: 18-19


Part of either the fun or fear (depending on your outlook) on a roller coaster comes from experiencing negative G’s and the feelings of instability and insecurity that send adrenaline coursing through your brain and body. The heart-in-your-throat first drop of “Superman – Ride of Steel” is 221feet (67.4 meters) that seems to plunge more than vertically down. On drops like this, I press my feet into the floor. It doesn’t make the ride safer or shorter, but it helps me feel more stable and keeps me in the seat!

If I’m riding a suspended roller coaster where there is no floor to begin with (ah, the Mind Eraser), or if the floor will at some point drop away beneath me (oy, the Medusa), I cross my ankles so my legs don’t whip around uncomfortably on the loops and snap turns. Have you noticed how frequently your foot ends up “in your mouth” when you’re stressed, or how often your bad attitude “kicks” the person next to you? Pressing into solid support gives us accountability and stability that strengthen self-control, peace, and patience within us. Ideally, family members support each other in stressful times, but sometimes family members cause the corkscrews! I know I’ve created stress for the people I love. Christians have the supporting “floor” of God’s Spirit, but we also need a network of people who will love us enough to push back with truth, with kind correction, with encouragement when we need it, and with practical help, too.

•Center your focus

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. James 1:17


Focus is one way my approach to thrill rides differs radically from that of my husband and son, who ride coasters with analytical minds and cast-iron stomachs. They enjoy keeping their eyes open to anticipate the next snap, loop or dive. For me, anticipation produces anxiety, and my eyes looping all over everywhere set my head spinning. To keep my stomach from churning, I focus on one spot directly in front of me, the way a skater focuses when doing spins - even if that spot is my white knuckles gripping the safety bar, or on the tip of my nose if my eyes are closed. Looking steadily into the distance towards the horizon in the direction in which you are moving – looking toward an unchanging spot - helps to reconcile the confusing signals, re-orient your perception and restore your sense of balance.


“God is good. God is good . . .” is the spot I center on again and again when my life starts spinning. God’s goodness is unchanging, no matter how confusing the signals we’re receiving seem to us.

•Be mindful of the truth



Much of the stress I feel in any given situation comes from what I’m thinking about. To reduce my stress level on roller coasters, I tell myself positive truths when I ride. "Thrill ride designers do factor in gravity, material strength, and limitations of human anatomy when they design rides. The theme park owners do not want me to be injured or die. They work to prevent this. The biggest drop on this coaster only lasts 2.8 seconds. I can be at peace for 2.8 seconds." Somewhere back in the far corners of my brain I do understand this, but that knowledge has a hard time influencing my emotions and my stomach unless I choose to think about it. I have to remind myself of the positive truth.



When I’m stressed, most facts that immediately come to mind are negative, but there are always at least one or two points of positive truth I can think about. I may be powerless to control my circumstances, but I always have power to direct my thoughts.




To the Jews who had believed him, Jesus said, “If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” John 8:31-32


• Choose your rides carefully


I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength . Philippians 4:13





I ride what I think I can reasonably handle. I try to discern when to ride, when not to ride, and how to say “no” without guilt. Sometimes you have no choice. Sickness or disaster or job loss or someone else’s bad choice drops you onto a thrill ride you weren’t standing in line for, but I don’t have to create thrill rides for myself or my family by trying to reason with a tired two-year-old, proving to my husband that I’m right, walking in the store just to check what’s on sale when our budget is tight, or accomplishing one more thing in the five minutes I have before I need to leave for an appointment.

A " . . . but . . . " to pray:


Jesus , your limitless love and power give me contentment and strength for every ride, so Lord, let me be a roller coaster mama! I'm sure this week life will take me on a thrill ride, BUT with your help I won’t panic, hyperventilate, or scream. I’ll buckle into love for you and others – even the ones who put me on the roller coasters. I’ll press into a supporting floor and brace my feet at the foot of the cross. I’ll choose positive truth and center my focus on you. When it is within my power to choose what I get involved in, I will be wise about my choices. When it isn’t within my power to choose, I’ll trust in Jesus’ limitless power to strengthen me, and by faith I believe I’ll even enjoy the ride!
Amen!




Your own " . . . but . . . " to move:


God, I'm stressed today over ___________________, BUT I know you __________________________________. As I press into you, help me enjoy the ride!