No, life isn't always great. But my book is.

Live today! Order your autographed copy at TaraLynnThompson.com. It's the sensible thing to do.

This picture is coming at you live from the hospital. I'm here today with a family member who is undergoing a procedure for skin cancer. And, yes, while they're under the knife, I'm here in the lobby launching my book, Just Another Sidekick.

Appropriate? Inappropriate? They're often so similar.

I didn't reschedule this announcement for two reasons 1) because life is always a mixture of joy and sadness happening simultaneously and 2) this date signifies that perfectly. On August 1, 2012, around the 10 am hour (if you want specifics) I injured my spine and a whole new journey, one I never saw coming, swept me out to sea.

Life altered drastically in nearly every way - how I physically moved, where I lived, who was in my life, what I did for a living. Within 45 days, the only thing that didn't change was my eye color, but that shifts depending on my clothes anyway.

Five years ago, I was living through an evolution in my life I considered bad. Everything seemed wrong. Ill-fitted. Uncomfortable. Or just so incredibly hard. This was not the life I had envisioned for myself and I struggled to see a hopeful future. But, I'm not always right about such things.

What I found was that, yes, there was a lot of harsh reality happening. Even in the midst of it, however, there were also moments of honest laughter, healthy challenges, perfect breezes, delightful surprises, and priceless friendships being built.

All the bad also brought with it good.

So, on that note, I'm launching Just Another Sidekick, the sequel to Not Another Superhero, on this difficult anniversary to show that a day previously representative of pain can also represent joy. And that a day of joy also comes with the seriousness of reality.

When life is served, my friends, it doesn't come in separate dishes but in one ginormous bowl. Never hesitate to grab a spoon and dig in.

Send ANYONE Else

He told me not to bother. If I remember correctly, his exact words actually were, "Don't bother."

This was around my 27th year and I was less than a week away from launching The Remnant, a Christian service group comprised of adult singles....wait for it...with a twist.

The twist was that singles groups are awkward and I didn't want to attend them anymore. So how does one meet new people and make quality friendships? One starts a group that weeds out any namby-pamby. Here's what I figured: I'd create a service group that specialized in volunteer projects so heinous, so tiring, so draining, so filthy, only the cool would survive.

Anyone left standing would be my kind of person. And we could be friends!

A week before the launch meeting, while I was in the midst of making snacks (the almond bark coated pretzels were a big hit) and organizing my pitch, a friend asked me a question that nearly ended it all: Are you willing to lead?

Define 'willing.'

Matthew - you beautiful boy you - was a friend with a background in ministry leadership. While working on the initial launch, he helped me think of scenarios and issues I'd never imagined. He asked me the hard questions. He took me through the logistics and the reality. Basically, he was my Mr. Miyagi.

Then he asked me that question and I was stumped. What I was comfortable doing was starting the group, not leading it. I assumed God was only asking me to do what I was comfortable doing. Isn't that what God does? Lets us chill in our comfort zones? Can I get an amen?

Matthew wasn't impressed with my answer. "If you can't lead it, don't bother starting it."

But...but...but...

This is what I call, "Being a real Moses." Not the Red Sea division Moses. The earlier dude talking to a burning bush about a speech impediment.

Initially, when God spoke to Moses about His plans to free the Israelites from Egypt, Moses responded with questions. We may think of him as this powerful Charleton Heston type and, with God beside him, he was. But he was also a man with a fear of public speaking he could not face.

So, he threw out any question he could. People will want to know God's name, what was he suppose to tell them? People will question his authority, how could he make them believe him? When God had answers for every excuse, Moses finally got real.

"Oh Lord, I'm not very good with words. I never have been, and I'm not now, even though you have spoken to me. I get tongue-tied, and my words get tangled." Exodus 4:10

Oh Moses. I get you, man.

I relate so much more to this Moses than the miracle working one. He saw his own inability and it caused hesitation and fear. I've often given God a list of the things I don't want to do. "Ask me to do anything Lord! Except this list of exceptions I've made into a convenient refrigerator magnet for you."

When Matthew asked me that question, I had a list of excuses, too. But God came with a ready answer.

Then the Lord asked Moses, "Who makes a person's mouth? Who decides whether people speak or do not speak, hear or do not hear, see or do not see? Is it not I, the Lord? Now go! I will be with you as you speak, and I will instruct you in what to say." Exodus 4:11-12

In other words, "You get tongue-tied? So what! Your limitations do not limit me. So get your rear in gear!" But Moses couldn't give God this one fear. He just couldn't.

"Lord, please! Send anyone else." Exodus 4:13

Accepting your ineptitude is liberating.

All those years ago, my friend Matthew gave me a new perspective on stepping into a role where I didn't feel qualified.

"God has trusted you with this project," he told me. "So are you going to protect what God's given you or let someone else step in and, quite possibly, take this group in the direction God never meant for it to go?"

This wasn't about what I was qualified to do. It was about God asking me if I was willing to do anything. Even if that anything freaked me out.

I take it back. 

I did launch The Remnant. And led it.

Not because I felt empowered and capable, but because I wasn't going to let anyone come along and screw it up.

Not only did God use me far beyond my capabilities, but He blessed me immeasurably for trusting Him. That group is where I met many of my closest, dearest, lifelong friends. For three years, we broke bread and sweat together. Lived with more paint in our hair than was culturally stylish. Worked in the cold rain and brutal sun. Ended most projects covered in dust, dirt, sawdust, and, on one particular weekend, cow manure. We also had an unfortunate event in a muddy field with a heavy truck, laughed more hours than we cried, and experienced true brother and sisterhood. All these years later, and I'm still blessed by that time in my life.

I think about that a lot when God comes around again asking me to travel further into my fears, which He does all the blasted day long. It's like He doesn't appreciate that refrigerator magnet at all.

If God is asking you, like He does with me, to do something that freaks you out, here's what we should do:

Right after listing all the reasons we're not qualified and believing anyone else would do a better job, take a breath. Deep inhale. Deep exhale. Get rid of the boundaries we've placed on our life. Forget who we are alone and remember Who is with us. Then, with as steady of a voice as we can summon, say, "Geez. Okay God. I take it back. Don't send anyone else. Send me."

Yes. But He's alive.

A wise and noble friend of mine often says, "Life is hard, but it's also so much more than hard."

And I reply, "Yes, but it is hard."

And he replies, "But not only hard."

And I reply, "Yes, but..." You get the picture.

My side of the conversation is super easier to prove. In fact, at this very moment I can rattle off names of family, friends, acquaintances, and even plug myself in there, who are currently struggling financially, with serious health issues, mourning over lost loved ones and lost trust, battling with failure and those fuzzy feelings that go with it, facing self-doubt, helplessness, hopelessness, broken heartedness, and pain of various shapes, colors, degrees, and delights.

See? Hard. I win.

Rules and exceptions.

We know this, of course. The evidence is everywhere. After awhile, and simply to maintain sanity, we accept my argument without much push back. Why fight it? What's done is done. What will be will be.

Right on.

Things get glitchy at this point because, if you're a Christian, you can't leave it there. God won't leave it there either. Lately, His 'not leaving it there' is getting louder. At least in my head. I have this phrase that keeps making its rounds everytime I consider all the harshness of life. It goes something like this, "Yes. But He's alive."

Easy to remember; hard to forget. Also, incredibly repetitive, like when you get, "The Final Countdown" by Europe stuck in your head.

Life is hard! Yes. But He's alive.

The harshness is real! Yes. But He's alive.

The real is confirmed! Yes. But He's alive.

Death is as real as it gets.

Easter weekend is here and I keep thinking about the disciples and their reality. They walked with the Son of God on earth, saw the sick healed, lame walk, thousands fed, Pharisees publically humiliated.

Good times.

Things took a drastic turn nearly as soon as Jesus got off that donkey.

The miracle worker stopped working miracles. The good guys started losing. The man who raised others from the dead was now dead himself. What could they have been feeling as Jesus was tortured to death on that cross? Probably hopeless. Definitely fearful. Incredibly lost. Undeniably defeated.

This was their harsh reality. It was their grave medical diagnosis, their home foreclosure, their sick child, their ending marriage, their failed dream. Jesus didn't just appear dead, He took a final breath. Done, finished, finito.

What's done was done. What would be...was.

Yes. But.

Sunday was coming. Not all that far off, actually.

The disciples saw their Teacher and Savior buried in a tomb. But their reality didn't change God's eventuality. That tomb was already empty. Those burial clothes were already tossed aside. Even before reality said so.

The plan God had written from the beginning was already as good as done before it even started.

Taking the twelve disciples aside, Jesus said, "Listen, we're going up to Jerusalem, where all the predictions of the prophets concerning the Son of Man will come true. He will be handed over to the Romans and he will be mocked, treated shamefully, and spit upon. They will flog him with a whip and kill him, but on the third day he will rise."
Luke 18:31-33 

All these hardships we face are real. They aren't frivolous or minor or shrug-worthy. They're painful, excruciating at times, and overwhelmingly defeating. They're as real as real gets. So, yes. The harshness is true.

And, because of that, I think we often see the future as more of the same. Mourning that never ends. Heartache that never stops. Pain that never relents. It's hard to imagine anything different than the reality we're facing every day, over and over, without any signs of change or renewal or hope.

But He's alive. And, because of that one fact, everything can change. Everything. Even our reality.

You know what this means? It means I lost the argument.

Happy Easter, my friends. He's risen! 

The storm your meteorologist isn't talking about.

It's March in the heartland.

That means it's time for Oklahomans to burrow into the ground with our water, flashlight, and battery-powered radio. Park our vehicles in a garage or under the awning at Sonic. Gather our family so everyone is ready to take the situation seriously when that fifth tornado siren goes off. Check into social media every ten minutes to write funny posts so it doesn't sound like we're scared. Charge our phone battery so we can record video when the floods come and hail falls.

And go one more round with Mother Nature to see who wins.

Of all our standard severe weather practices, the most important one is that we never let a tornado take us by surprise.

Which means we live in vigilant fear for one season and constant dread the other three.

Keep an Eye on the Forecast

We don't actually. We're just aware that bad weather does come. It always comes. We won't make it through this season without it so being shocked when it arrives would seem...well...stupid.

Spring comes every year. And bad weather comes with it. Every. Year.

You cannot separate the two, just like you cannot separate life from problems. The former doesn't come without versions of the latter. Believing we can get through life without facing disappointment, difficulty, challenges, or struggles would seem...well...stupid.

But I do it anyway.

You?

The only thing to fear is schizophrenia itself

I'm that person always warning others there are rumblings on the horizon. It's obnoxious. Trust me. But I can't seem to help myself. I see patterns in life my friends believe is a side effect from all those drugs I took in the 60s.

But I've been doing it forever.

My guess is it's leftover hypervigilance from a few traumatic experiences of my childhood. You don't get tossed off the roof of a burning house as a child and it not make an impression. Or get yanked out of a church building on an Easter morning while the floor is collapsing under your feet and not wonder if you're a marble and the planet is a Hungry, Hungry Hippo.

For years, my life was so exciting I didn't need an imagination.

Beware the Ides of the Other Shoe

Accepting that life can be an obstacle course has rarely been my challenge. For me, it's believing that life isn't only an obstacle course.

But if I can do it, anyone can.

Yes, we must face the harsh realities of life. When we don't, we become those people who sob on the front lawns of universities when we realize anything of value costs money.

Let's never be those people.

But acceptance doesn't mean obsession. Or fatalism. Even though the weather, our circumstances, life itself, often tries to convince us the struggle will never end. It does. It will. Just hold on.

Because, outside, the weather is going to do its best to convince us every day is nothing but another chance for the wind to draw blood. But that isn't the weather always and won't be the weather forever. As most Oklahomans know, not every breeze turns into a storm. Not every storm turns into a tornado. Not every tornado causes irreparable damage.

Eventually, the new norm changes into another new norm. The winds die down. The sky stops churning. The thunder rumbles off. And spring, each and every year, turns to summer.

So, while we wait for this tumultuous spring season to pass, whether that's the weather or our circumstances, I'll leave you with a blessing my grandfather often repeated that's been a comfort to me:

"May the Lord bless you and protect you. May the Lord smile on you and be gracious to you. May the Lord show you his favor and give you his peace." Numbers 6:24-26

And I'll add: May your storm shelter be fortified, roomy, and have wifi.

7 Unwanted Emotions and the Uncommon Advice To Overcome Them

You don't want to feel what you feel, but you do. You don't want this emotion, but you've got it.

Oh, I've been there, am there, was there, will be there again. Rotten feelings are normal and expected. But that doesn't mean we have to like it. Or succumb without a fight.

When negative emotions get their hook in, we need a way to yank them out.

Carefully.

Painlessly would be groovy.

At the very least, thoroughly.

First and foremost, I recommend prayer and honest, quiet, focused scripture reading. But, sometimes, we need to add some fresh perspective to the mix. We need someone not in our head to give us a new viewpoint.

Recently, I had a series of meet-ups with friends. All of whom are brilliant. Brilliant and interesting. A necessary combination.

After each conversation, it struck me how all their insight, advice, or just conversational thoughts - collectively - touched on a variety of negative emotions all of us face. And usually repetitively.

It was stuff too good not to share. So...my friends...here's some words from...my friends...on dealing with 7 of the most common negative emotions:

When you feel Defeated: 

“You’ve got to live your life. Not anyone else’s. That means it moves at your unique pace. And there’s nothing at all wrong with that."

I loved this freeing thought because I'm definitely at war with time. I have exactly one clock in my house. One. That's all I can stomach. But, even though time is rarely our friend, it doesn't have to be our captor.

When you feel Jealous: 

“The way I look at it, I still have something to work toward that others with more than me don't. I haven’t achieved everything I want in life, yet. That means I have desires that motivate me to keep moving forward and gives me something to look forward to experiencing." 

This thought reminds me of a scene in Welcome Home, Roxy Carmichael, a movie my girlfriends and I watched too many times in our teen years.


Gerald Howells: Gosh, I want to kiss you so bad, Dinky.

Dinky Bossetti: It's good to want things.

When you feel Anxious: 

“Your shoulda’s will kill you. I should’a done this, I should’a achieved that, I should’a had that by now. That’s what builds anxiety. You have to stop setting these rules and simply accept your pace of life.”

Those shouda's really will kill you.

When you feel Confused: 

“We don’t see things the way they are. We see things the way we are." 

Acceptance is the first step to recovery. And clarify.

When you feel Disappointed: 

“When you look at the horizon, all you can see is a comparison of where you are and where others are. And you’ve got to let it all go. God wants to step in, but He’s waiting for us to move out of the way.”

That song from Frozen got stuck in my head for a solid four hours after.

When you feel Hopeless: 

“The relationship was dead. I’d given up. There was no saving it. But God showed up and, I tell you, it’s amazing what He can do.”

Hope until the end. Hope with your last breath. Life is simply too mean, too harsh, too cruel to face it without hope. And, make no mistake, holding on to hope may be the hardest thing you'll ever do.

When you feel Offended: 

“Don’t you need confrontation to face things you haven’t faced on your own?”

It's time for brutal truth to make a comeback.

***

I'll leave you with one of my own favorite quotes. I honestly don't know if I compiled it from a compilation of scripture and other quotes or I stole it verbatim. But it's awesome so I'll take credit until I'm challenged:

When you feel Despair:

"God loves doing the impossible because He's the only one who can." 

Until next week.

Love's a Lover AND a Fighter

I'm repurposing this blog from 2014, with a few added revisions and thoughts. It fits me most Valentine's Days because the fight of life doesn't take a break even for a day beautifully dedicated to chocolate consumption. (I'm a dark chocolate junkie in case anyone is itching to send me some.) If your day is more about warring than loving, know you are loved even when you are called into war. 

X's and O's
Tara Lynn

"Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, 

and endures through every circumstance." 

1 Corinthians 13:7

Love, I've wondered, may be made out of mohair.

It's warm, fuzzy, cute, and when you're wearing it, everyone around you and everything you touch is sprinkled with a little piece. Strands of mohair also stick to your lip gloss and love might do that, too.

That's the cutesy side to love. The flowers and candy and such. The fat, diapered baby with arrows. The rom-coms and date nights. And there's not a bloody thing wrong with any of it.

So it's cheesy. So what?

Revel in it, my friends. Enjoy the ridiculousness. Life has lots of serious moments so never discount the lighthearted ones.

The soft stuff, however, isn't what I'm thinking about today. Today of ALL days I'm thinking about fighting. Real left hook/right hook kind of fighting. No holds barred style. The kind that hurts and usually draws blood.

In other words, today I'm thinking about love.



This song by Switchfoot found me months ago on a day too heavy to live underneath. A day I was driving myself to the hospital, yet again, to get more bad news, yet again, and all I could think about was how I didn't have any fight left in me.  I was tapped out.   

At that moment, I'm not sure I loved anything enough to throw a punch for it. Not even my own life. It was a day after a long siege of days where pain and struggle and uncertainty were the only things on my horizon or scheduled for tomorrow.

I drove, but I drove without hope. And that's when this song came on.

Down but not out

Life at that moment wasn't worth the fight. Neither was my future, my dreams, my faith, or my hopes, which had faded like draperies in east-facing windows. But I had no options but to keep moving forward because, in life, there's no such thing as reverse.

So I drove. And I listened to this song.

This is what the Switchfoot frontman Jon Foreman said once about the thoughts behind the song:

"From time to time we all come to those difficult moments of struggle when life becomes a fight. Maybe we are depressed and can't seem to find a way out. Or maybe we're dealing with the loss of someone we love. And maybe in that existential moment we begin to wonder what we're living for, what we're aiming for, what we're struggling for."

Love, he explained, is the only thing worth fighting for.

Take it to the mat 

In the middle of nothingness, when I'd lost all purpose and heart to take one more hit or go one more round, God was showing up to tell me if all I had was Him, then He, alone, was worth the fight.

Not the life I had wanted but didn't have. Not the plans I had designed but couldn't complete. Just God. Just love. That's all I needed. If He was the only thing left about my life, then it was still worth fighting for. And He would be its Savior.

Again.

During recovery, this song became my anthem. I played it A LOT. Still do. And on days when all I can do is put one foot in front of the other, I still put on my headphones, turn on this song, and put one foot in front of the other.

If this finds you in that kind of a moment, or that kind of a month, year, or decade, then all I have is one piece of advice:

Love, all by itself, is worth fighting for. Even in the moments you don't feel it or see it. Even if you think all you have is the hope of love.

Don't give up, my friends. Don't grow cold or hardened or detached from the hope that things can and will improve, that God will answer you one way - one day - or another. Whatever in your life has died, you have a Savior who specializes in resurrection.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Your Four-Day-Dead Dream: What if there was a resurrection?

He wasn't suppose to die.

Lazarus had a cure. The cure. An all-access VIP pass to answered prayer. He would live. It was what Martha wanted most. And, because Jesus loved her, He would never deny her what she wanted most.

Right?

Martha believed her story would always be victorious. Imagine her devastation when she realized she had read her genre wrong. She was the protagonist in a tragedy.

This wasn't suppose to be your story

You were so certain. So sure. What you dreamed of having or doing or seeing or being, what you hoped for yourself or your family, would come true. God would answer that prayer. It was a good prayer. A right thing to want. He would show.

Then He didn't.

The time came and went. The moment passed. The door closed and locked. It wasn't suppose to end like this.

Where do dead dreams go when they die? A tomb. Deep and cavernous, cold and black. Only an entrance. No egress.

Not the end but a lengthy third act

A few years ago, while reading Beautiful Things Happen When a Woman Trusts God by Sheila Walsh, I began to view the story of Lazarus differently and, with it, my own dead dream. What I didn't understand in Lazarus' story was the significance of Jesus waiting four days.

I'm not alone, though. Martha didn't understand it, either.

If the point of the story was to illustrate His resurrection power, wouldn't any moment after the last breath do ya? Four days seemed odd. Lengthy. Inconvenience. A little insensitive. Did He not understand Martha's broken heart?

Never doubt. God is always in the details.

From Beautiful Things:

"The Jews, you see, believed that for three days the soul might return to the grave, thinking that it would reenter the body; but on day four it sees that the color of its face has changed and leaves for good.....after three days all hope of recovery was gone." 

All. Hope. Gone. Got it. Dead is dead is dead.

Except when it's not.

Jesus waited for a reason. He was making a point. A big one with an exclamation at the end. He was saying, "Death isn't death. Not with me. Not even after four long days when all hope is gone."

Never underestimate the author

Writers are all about plot twists. We're sneaky that way. Besides, a journey without challenges is boring. A clear path from Point A to Point B isn't a great story, it's an instruction manual.

The more insurmountable the obstacle, the bigger the victory. We don't cheer on protagonists that face inconveniences. We root for heroes that face the impossible.

 The worse the odds, the sweeter the win.

"So Jesus moves toward the tomb....He tells some of the men to remove the stone from the grave's opening. Martha is horrified. It was hard enough to bury Lazarus's lifeless body, but to open the tomb after four days and face the stench and decomposition is too much. Jesus senses her panic. He turns to her and reminds her to trust him. He's simple and clear here. No matter how things appear, Martha, believe."

No matter how things appear. No matter. Believe.

Final isn't always final

You may believe there is no hope left. Your dream is four days dead. It's died the death of deaths. It's past revival. And, if you think it's all up to you, that would be correct.


But, with God, the dead rise.

They shake off the earth that buried them. They breathe again. They awaken and start anew. They walk out of that tomb. They shrug off their burial clothes. They call out to friends and family and joy returns. They rescue the mourners. They officiate the celebration. They toast to the new day and the bright future. They restore our lost faith. They revive our defeated heart. They make everything new again.

They live. Even though they were dead.

Death isn't always death

Lazarus came to me today, which is so like him, always showing up when he's not expected. His life, his death, his life again, I woke up thinking about him and his story and, of course, his sister Martha.

What were those days like for her? Those hours sitting by the window, staring down the road, desperate to see a glimpse of Jesus in the distance and seeing nothing. All the while her brother perishes beside her.

Then he's gone. And the days tick by. One. Then two. Three. And finally four.

Did she watch the sun rise on that morning? Did she grieve anew at, yet again, her loss of hope? Did she feel unloved, overlooked, or even rejected by Jesus?

Today, on Good Friday, Jesus' disciples experienced a similar defeat. They dreamed the dream of a Jewish King. That king died on a cross today. It wasn't how the story was supposed to end.

But the story wasn't over. A bigger, better dream was actually beginning. This was the first step. An earthly king? Oh, no. What they thought was death was actually God showing them He could do so much better than what they imagined.

How about a heavenly kingdom that never ends. A house right next door to Him. A love that forgives all. A savior that gave everything. And, just because God is a ridiculous kind of giver, an eternity with no tears or sorrow.

It was all coming. Even when Jesus died. Even when they buried Him in the tomb. Even as the days passed in fear and grief. Resurrection was coming.

No matter how things appear. No matter. Believe.

How to part the Red Sea in 94 words or less

The job fell through.

Right when my friend dared to hope. Right when he believed God was moving. Right when he risked dreaming.

Moses hoped, too. Then God (totally on purpose) made him the meat in a Red Sea/Egyptian army sandwich. Hold the mayo. Why? To show Moses great and mighty works he could not fathom.

But...

First the Red Sea came. And the army. The “no swimming allowed” sign. And the loss of hope.

Today, if you’re up against the Red Sea, get out your camera phone. God is about to show off.

The Life and Times of a Logo. And how it taught me hope.

Logos aren't bad. They're just drawn that way.

Mine was only an internal image. Placed there by a designer friend of mine. Fed by my own spoiled greed. Wanted for the sake of want. Like domesticating a tiger with a diamond collar. Because I can. Because I wish. Because it would be fun to pat and publicize.

But I didn't want to feed it or be fed to it.

The logo was for branding. To burn a mark into the hide of my devious future career plans (are there any other kind?). It would be my pet, since my landlord won't let me have one.

After months of working either with an illustrator or to find an illustrator, I still had nothing but doodles in my head and scratches on my paper. I couldn't get what was in my mind's eye out of my mind's eye and into a jpeg.

I only draw stick people. Sick stick people. It's a gift.

One day, after venting my frustration over the phone to my mother, she responded with, "I've just drawn something. Can I mail it to you?"

I suggested a snapshot sent via text (it's faster) but, otherwise, it was on its way.

What I didn't expect was something I'd actually like. She's brilliantly talented, but not as an illustrator. She raises fruits and vegetables, bees and children. She cooks like Mozart played. She does not draw.

She sent this:

And I loved it.

She took her idea and sent it to my brother to flesh it out.

He sent this:

And my love grew.

I took his drawing to some designer friends of mine for their thoughts.

They sent this:

And the love was eternal.

After all my frustration, dead ends, angst, and the occasional grabbing of a curl attached to my head and yanking bluntly, the answer came from a source I wouldn't have even considered: my Mom. Who isn't an illustrator. Who put the wheels in motion. After drawing out a sketch. On a scrap piece of paper. In roughly 90 seconds or less.

Hope, when it comes, may approach from the one direction you aren't looking.

Leader of the Third Rock

photo courtesy of NASA

His words were a nice reminder.
Scratch that. Not nice. Necessary.

They were simple and concise, known and understood, but still existential. Perhaps even crucial to the next moment and the moment after. The words clung to my mouth, like drops of honeysuckle from the monstrosity of a bush that overtook my parent's backyard every bug-infested summer and chopping it down neither cleared the view nor lightened the spirit. That honeysuckle bush, with it's creamy buds tickling the senses and patient sweetness there for the taking, had to survive.

I hung up the phone and thought, "That's right. That's exactly right. I'm not defeated. What a filthy lie."

Optimism does nothing for me. When faced with a reality of death, destruction, mayhem or just a really, bad day, a dose of "the sun will come out tomorrow" ticks me off.
I don't care about tomorrow. I'm living the now...now. And peppy people get on my nerves. Optimism for optimism's sake is pathetic denial. There is no law of nature that requires the world to automatically right itself, the day to end like a sitcom, or the bad guys to actually get "it", whatever "it" is, in the end.
Justice isn't guaranteed, neither is goodness, rightness, or even the victory of truth. In the end, the innocent might die and the cheaters might win. And believing otherwise, for believing's sake, means you've watched too many movies.
Turn off the TV and look around. Life is ugly.

Last night I went to asleep with a simply prayer, "God help." It was more out of desperation or depression.
The last few weeks have been a Chinese water-torture of bad news, each drop expanding a cesspool of woe. Myself, along with family and friends, take variable turns losing jobs, losing money, losing health, all while our President apologies for our existence and publishes classified memos so our enemies feel safer.
The world hasn't gone mad. That happened ages ago. But now we've taken down the gates and invited the madman to afternoon tea.
Why fight for prosperity, for safety, for truth, even for hope, when defeat had already crossed the finish line and sat picking our future from between it's yellowed teeth?

Then, he spoke. And real change happened.

I was chasing down a story for one of my clients, seeking a source. He was a real possibility and so we talked. The article is about spiritual authority, the power of the Holy Spirit in our lives. And admittedly, I was hoping the article would inspire others with courage, not taking into consideration I was one of the "others."
Then he said something. I had heard it before. Lots, actually. And it wasn't any great revelation. He said, "When we pray, we are actually praying to Jesus Christ, asking Him to make intercession, to pray, essentially, for us."
Right, right. I nodded. Writing down his contact info, with the haze of the rainy day clinging to the window outside and my mood just beyond. Right. Got it. Knew that. Moving on.

But I didn't move on. It rested on my slumped shoulder, like a whisper growing in volume as the wind carried it further away. I'm talking to the Son of God.

Now, for those of us who are Christians, that's pretty basic stuff. Jesus 101. We pray, He hears. I learned that on the first day.
"We think it's about the routine of prayer," he went on. "But it's not. It isn't the words we speak. God is looking at our heart."
Right, right. Heard it all before. Nothing new to see hear everyone. Moving on.

Yet again, I didn't. I stopped. It was really just a pause, a hitch. I felt my mind hesitate, as if trying to decide between crossing the road or standing at the corner reading the street signs. I paused somewhere between the double yellow lines. We pray. Jesus acts. God hears. What a blissfully, marvelous concept.

Suddenly, my exhaustion didn't overwhelm, it didn't irritate, it didn't intimidate. I hadn't forgotten that God hears me. I had forgotten He does anything about it. For far too long, I think it's all up to me.

I have a savior complex. I do. It's got a nasally voice and short legs and whenever I have battles to win and mountains to move, it pulls a hamstring and pouts in the corner. The darn thing is absolutely useless and smells like Baby Power deodorant. And when it fails, I feel like a failure too. I can't right the wrongs. My family is still struggling financially. My friends are still going into surgery. And I'm still at a loss to finish the laundry. Success is a myth.

But what if it isn't up to me? What if I actually serve a God, THE GOD, mind you, who talked and Annapurna formed, who met death and laughed at it, who thought up the Bumblebee Bat, who would have more Twitter friends than Ashton Kutcher, who neither needs me nor requires my devotion but loves me anyway, who never checks opinion polls before acting, who shoulders the weight and criticism of the entire planet without a single slipped disc, who not only listens to my prayers, but acts on them? What if I served a God like that? Wouldn't that mean I could rest? Wouldn't that mean I could hope? Wouldn't that mean I could trust the future, whatever it was? Wouldn't I be the most powerful person in the world?

Wouldn't you?

the Word: will the real Hope please stand up

Not today.
I'm not going to say anything.
I'm letting the celebrities and pundits and talking heads slobber over every inch of this Inauguration day.

There are days to speak. Days to listen. Then, there are days to observe, quietly and with God as your only company. And...maybe a glass of wine. Or two.

Today there is hope. There truly is. And it has absolutely nothing to do with Washington D.C. or Oprah or a man some want to crown King.
But hope, real hope, is alive.
It was yesterday, the day before, eight years before, thousands of years earlier, and every moment from then until the end. Hope came with one man, who will never die. And there is where hope resides.

So tomorrow, definitely tomorrow, my comments and sarcasm and observations will return. But today, I think you need something more.

A friend sent me this:


Psalm 37


9 Before long the crooks will be bankrupt;God-investors will soon own the store.

11 Down-to-earth people will move in and take over,relishing a huge bonanza.

13 But God isn't losing any sleep; to him they're a joke with no punch line.

18 God keeps track of the decent folk;what they do won't soon be forgotten.

19 In hard times, they'll hold their heads high;when the shelves are bare, they'll be full.

21 Wicked borrows and never returns;Righteous gives and gives.
28 God loves this kind of thing,never turns away from his friends.
Live this way and you've got it made,
but bad eggs will be tossed out.

35 I saw Wicked bloated like a toad,croaking pretentious nonsense.

36 The next time I looked there was nothing—a punctured bladder, vapid and limp.

37 Keep your eye on the healthy soul,scrutinize the straight life;
There's a future
in strenuous wholeness.

40 God-strengthened, we're delivered from evil—when we run to him, he saves us.