Category: faith

faith

The Continuum

No, really. I saw a big pink bunny.

Little known fact: I hold a master’s in education for agency counseling. Not because of all the time I’ve spent in therapy, but a real degree. Could qualify me to counsel people in a clinical situation. Scary, huh?

I say I hold the degree because I do nothing with it professionally. Never completed the gazillion practicum hours for licensure. Adored my psychology classes. But after a couple years interning I figured I didn’t make a very good counselor and ran back to marketing.

At the end of the day, all I could do was empathize. Even armed with my degree, I never felt qualified to tell people what they should do. I know that’s not exactly the job of good counselors, but I didn’t understand how to help clinically.

They might get better, or not. Some did, some didn’t. Some moved toward wellness quickly. For most it was a long, slow journey. Too long and slow for Little Miss Impatient me.

Hearing the clients tell their stories was the silver lining. Through them I learned we’re on a continuum of mental health, just like we’re on a continuum of physical health. Degrees of wellness may vary during our lives.

They had problems, yes. But when I actually talked to them, including those diagnosed with serious disorders, I found they weren’t so crazy after all. They were a lot like you and me.

The wounded healer model made perfect sense. Not an expert who would sit in judgment and dictate the means for recovery. Instead, someone who could get in the boat of hard knocks with folks because we all sail in it sometimes. Through empathizing, I thought I could help.

Who knows if I did? My foray into counseling stops short. Human solutions do.

We can suggest, support, command, plan, medicate, care, counsel, advise, intervene, intercede. We are responsible to do whatever is in our power to help. In the end, however, we are powerless to change ourselves or anyone else.

Easter lilies

Sound hopeless? Don’t mean to get all religious on you, but I would be irresponsible if I didn’t remind you today is Good Friday.

Christ died on Good Friday. He met the end every human will face. He can empathize. He can go deep.

He didn’t stop short. He got in the boat, living and dying with us, only without sin. Then he did what no one has done or can do except Him. He lived again.

That’s why it’s Good. He opened the way for us to be changed and to follow.

No doubt the struggles and infirmities we face–the sins we commit–are wickedly bad. But this is Good Friday, and Sunday’s coming.

The angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay…” Matthew 28:5-6 NIV

In this video on YouTube, Lead Me to the Cross by Hillsong United is set to scenes from The Passion of the Christ. A moving song and depiction of the historical events that changed everything, it is not for children or the faint of heart. Happy Easter, everyone. He is risen. He is risen indeed.

despised, rejected

An Answer to a Friend

In 2004 when The Passion of the Christ came out, a friend said she didn’t understand the part with the woman in the sand. That part opens the video mentioned above. Read the chilling story for yourself in John 8:1-11.

Posted on by Aimee 2

House Arrest: Selling in a Buyer’s Market

the house

Got a call one Friday. An agent wanted to show our house at noon on Saturday.

So Saturday morning we parked our child in front of a DVD and my husband and I cleaned like the dickens. We’ve been doing this for the nearly two years the house has been on the market. Have it down to a science.

We can clean 4,100 square feet top to bottom in less than three hours. That includes three floors, six bedrooms, and three and a half baths of restored 1918 colonial revival perfection.

All this can be yours if, say it with me now, the price is right.

Concerned friends ask have we lowered the price, marketed sufficiently, prayed? A resounding yes to all.

We’ve dropped the price, then dropped it again. Had so many open houses, our son declared when he grows up there will be “no open houses allowed.”

We estimate more than 500 people have come through. Been featured in local society pages, magazines and online.

God knows we’ve prayed. But the For Sale sign has taken root in our yard. Its thin stakes wrap around the iron water lines far below the ground.

We bought this house in 2008 because we needed another bathroom. Our house at the time, a darling 1926 model with a gambrel roof, had three bedrooms and only one and a half bathrooms.

Discussions ensued about adding on to the current structure. Then I perused the market to see what was available.

And there I found this house, a disheveled wreck of stale wallpaper, broken fixtures, and the evidence of cats. The former owner liked cats. A lot.

But ah, what good bones! Stone pediment, marble bathrooms, carved oak panels in the living room, sunrooms facing south and east. We were taken.

Little did we know what would have been a wise investment five years ago would be a quagmire today.

We bought the house then proceeded to spend more than anticipated restoring it. After a year of tussling with contractors and painting until our arms nearly fell off, we sat down and figured it out.

Our margins were running thin physically, mentally, emotionally, financially, and with each other. Our little family was lost in this house. The situation was unsustainable. We would sell.

call now

In 2008 our agent sold our previous house in 10 days. This is a different market.

The economy is weak and uncertain. Buyers are scarce, empowered and picky.

Our agent is steadfast. It’s a beautiful house, she says. It only takes one buyer.

There is nothing more we can do.

So that Friday with trepidation I said to our agent, “I don’t mean to sound cliché, but this really is in God’s hands.”

God has been faithful to provide all we need. Why should it scare me to be in His hands when it’s the safest place?

Ultimately we are safe, but this is still a battle, baby. It’s messy. There are casualties. And only God knows how it will all go down.

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. Hebrews 11:1 NIV

Faith to Be Strong and singer-songwriter Andrew Peterson are favorites for life. Listen and take heart.

Posted on by Aimee 3

Bring It, Sweet Sephora

I'm on the list

Is it wrong to thank Jesus I have finally been added to the Sephora mailing list?

Sidebar: For those of you whose mailboxes were also graced with the spring catalog, does François Nars look a lot younger than you expected? In my head I pictured him more like designer Valentino. Imagine my shock to see he’s such a PYT (that’s Michael Jackson-ese for Pretty Young Thing).

Back to the question at hand. Is it wrong to give thanks for the catalog?

Or to thank God when I find a parking place at the mall close to the door?

Or when the snow melts quickly because I’m so sick of snow I could scream?

Or when I see a collection of robins hopping around my yard, so I know even if it doesn’t feel like it, spring is here or they wouldn’t be?

Well-meaning people may imply these are trivial, silly, selfish things. It is disrespectful to thank God for such drivel.

How dare I be so trite with the Holy Almighty God. He is God and I am not.

And for that matter, I should not pray with my eyes open or when driving or doing anything else, but only during a scheduled quiet time first thing in the morning. I should not wear shorts either.

Okay. I’m kidding about the shorts. No one has implied that to me. Yet.

God is God. He is Holy. Almighty. Perfect. I am not. Agreed.

But I am His child.

And if He sees me at all like I see my child, nothing is drivel really. What matters to my child matters to me. Big or small. Important or trivial. Serious or shallow.

The One who made all the stars and calls them each by name, who sees even the smallest sparrow fall, who knows the number of hairs on my head, He is my Father and He knows. He knows. He knows.

Be it day or dark of night, whenever I am blessed with the slightest tinge of joy or troubled by the most fleeting of worries, He says to me, “Bring it, child. Bring it.”

And when I do, it is well with my soul.

How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! 1 John 3:1 NIV

brave heart

To listen to Children of God by Third Day on their website, click here. Grab a box of tissues. They have quite a message to share.

Posted on by Aimee 2

Life on the Slippery Slope

There’s a park across the street where I take the dog to run.

Once we make it to the sidewalk bordering the park, a huge hill drops into a field. Then another drop where there’s a pond and a playground.

It’s lovely all seasons. St. Louis winters cover it with fantastically white snow.

As soon as the snow falls and the schools close due to weather, the hill fills with a patchwork of colors. Parkas, mittens, waterproof boots, disks and planks of bright plastic sleds.

One morning a few weeks ago after the sledders were called back to class, the dog and I ventured out.

Mountain climbers at the summit, this was our hill, silent and packed with muddied snow. Marred from dozens of children’s boots and sleds.

No sooner did I let the dog off the leash than she proceeded to run as if the hill were covered in tender spring grass.

I started my descent much slower than she did. No matter. Unless I stood perfectly still, it became apparent I was going to fall.

The dog skidded and turned to go back up. Her toenails clicked, grasping for ground but only sliding on the slick surface. I watched her dance around in a little circle, slipping, grasping, turning, prancing.

Memories of ski lessons on icy North Carolina slopes tumbled back. Snow plow, bunny ears, parallel side steps. Not the same result in Adidas as in skis.

I thought of the impending, embarrassing emergency rescue, ambulance and all. Then I noticed the dog.

She’d stopped her desperate jitterbug and was running down the hill again. So I followed her in the same manner.

When we ran full speed down the hill, our feet were light and had no time to slide. Laughing, screaming, I ran after that dog and remembered sometimes it’s wiser to plunge headlong into whatever I’m facing than to spin in a hesitant, futile reach for safety.

This ordinary morning, there was life more abundantly for a common girl and her dog on a steep snowy hill. Oh, that my heart could hold on to that moment.

David ran toward the battle line to meet Goliath. Lord, may I run like that too. Fearlessly, may I run.

As the Philistine moved closer to attack him, David ran quickly toward the battle line to meet him. 1 Samuel 17:48 NIV

This post was first published on February 23, 2011, here.

Posted on by Aimee

Mercy and Hellfire on Facebook

Friended a few people I haven’t seen in years. Suspect there is some unfinished business between us.

Seeing their faces pop up on screen, I miss them. Their smiles, laughter, presence. How close we once were. How much a part of each other’s lives. Now years and silence are all we share. Sigh.

When I fretted over a recent class reunion, a friend told me we’ve all grown up. She said you have to hope people have gotten past the drama of high school. Let’s not even talk about college.

Hope. Did you catch that? Do we really get past those transgressions?

I remember there was one person in particular I hurt terribly. I would like to dig a hole, crawl inside and die for how badly I behaved. If anyone ever had a reason never to speak to me again, this person did.

What a surprise when at said reunion this person approached me with a welcoming handshake and a warm hug. He’s grown up. He’s gracious. And I am mercifully forgiven.

We’ve all been wronged at some point. I was the target of fickleness and cruelty too. I still am at times, even with the adults populating my life today.

I’m reminded to put down my saber, let go and forgive. Christian cliché? Forgive and forget. Let go and let God.

I’m not interested in that kind of forgiveness.

I’m talking about the hard won, humanly impossible forgiveness. The kind that runs deeper than the wound.

The kind I may have to revisit on my knees a few times over a few years. The kind that brings freedom once it’s complete.

There may be relationships that cannot and will not be reconciled, despite forgiveness on my part or theirs.

People on Facebook or in real life or in the past I must leave be. Nix reaching out, lest I pull back a nub.

Still those moments of remembering leave me wanting. Those faces on my screen draw me in.

In some cases, I bravely reach out and accept my just desserts. The judgment fire of burned bridges as a consequence of my sin or someone else’s.

And in other cases? As the messages of acceptance trickle in one by one, I am flooded by the gift of mercy. And it is very good.

I have swept away your offenses like a cloud, your sins like the morning mist. Return to me, for I have redeemed you. Isaiah 44:22 NIV

This post was first published on February 20, 2011, here.

Posted on by Aimee 1