note to self...

Some days you will be bombarded with confusing thoughts. It may be an unrelenting song stuck in your head, doubts about God or yourself, obsessive ruminations over something out of your control, or just mental static from the noise around you. This internal turbulence can send you to a bad place if you try and figure out where it came from, or let it steal your attention. Don't engage in the battle and rabbit-trail yourself into anxiety.

The best way to combat these intrusions is to ignore them. Replace the climate of your brain with music based on truth. It is as simple as it sounds. The truth will guide your thoughts back to a safe haven of peace, and the unwelcome poachers will fade back into the darkness from which they slinked.

things that don't make sense...


getting mad at clothes for falling off the hanger

wondering if the chain mail I just deleted was the one bonefide message from God

spending 10 years of my life perfecting chicken casserole recipes

going to a restaurant and ordering chicken

buying dark shadow for above my eyes and dark shadow concealer for under my eyes

purchasing a rat for a pet in the house and killing the rat in the garage

acquiring animals that require cleaning up poop and barf when I had Babies

why older women roll their nylons to just below their knees

when I think it is too much trouble to wear nylons. Then my feet sweat. Then I wonder how I can wear them without the hassle of pulling them all the way up.

grocery lists that include dried cranberries and cranberry juice

Middle ground

To say we are different is an understatement. My husband and I are polar opposites. While he is usually busy ordering his world, I am looking for ways to get out of the box. It works for us. The only real problem comes when he tries to order my world or I attempt to get him out of his box. That happened last Saturday.

Who would have thought our worlds would collide over fish? Right in the middle of the Costco parking lot no less. How stupid is it to give validity to something so insignificant? Just the fact that we were haggling over salmon made me mad. Besides, who doesn't like fresh grilled salmon? Why did he insist on being difficult?

I'm thinking: Buy it, slap the thing on the grill and be done with it. Move on to the sunset or a walk in the park...
He's thinking: I want to think this through because I haven't had a nice meal all week and I want it to be the pinnacle of the weekend...salmon must be accompanied by great side dishes and an appropriate dessert.
After my eyes roll I'm thinking: this could take hours...

It's not like we were yelling. We were talking earnestly. Grim. Like we just received really bad news. Everyone passing our car seemed to give us that knowing look. All because we sat stalemated over dinner.

I finally blurted out "It's just a dang fish!"

That's when we decided to cut bait.

We left the parking lot. As we drove around I prayed God would help us to understand each other. I'm sure John was also praying because he said nothing.

Eventually we discussed the real issue, which boiled down to the need to communicate our expectations clearly without judging each other for being different. To discover in-the-moment compromise.

We went back to Costco and bought some marinated frozen salmon. We sauteed it and served it to the family over pasta from the pantry. Then we took everyone out to frozen yogurt.

Middle ground is good.

Perched on the corner of a busy intersection like a modern day Joan of Arc in skinny jeans, an angry picketer raised her voice against violence. Her verbal shrapnel pelted passers by, scaring them mute. Most people either ignored or avoided her.

When I drove back by later that afternoon I watched as she threw her many signs in the trunk of her bumper-stickered car. Her righteous cause hung limp in the air like a popped balloon stuck on a wire. She'd spoken truth but lacked grace.

My mental dialogue dissected her approach. Is it enough to put it out there, even if it seems like an angry diatribe preached from a soapbox? Is hostile expression appropriate if the cause is just? Been there. Didn't feel real good about the outcome. But do we just keep quiet? How do Christians speak truth effectively?

Some of us tend to go to the opposite extreme by over-extending grace. I've done that too - rationalizing my point to death paralyzed by thoughts like: Is it my place to speak? Do I have the right attitude? Do my feelings really matter? What if I offend? Is my approach Christ-like? By the time I finished overthinking I'd missed the golden opportunity. So I did nothing. At times I even waited until the problem was so big that I no longer cared about the relationship. Grace without truth is not always effective for change. Sometimes it feels like being a doormat.

When I look at Jesus, I see the perfect middle ground. Unafraid of offending, he spoke truth without blasting. Yet his loving approach drew the masses rather than alienating them with angry rebuke. He cared more about souls than his reputation, and cut to the heart of the matter without beating around the bush.

I want to be like him. I want to be full of grace AND truth.

Limping with God

To say I limped would have been an understatement. I hobbled. I would have preferred to saunter, even traipse or schlep - anything that didn't involve pain.

In fact, I reminded myself of Grandpappy Amos from the Real McCoys, who's image lingered in the cobwebs of my childhood memories. He would flap his elbows out like a chicken to get some kind of lift in order to take the pressure off his bad leg. I started doing that.

Several people commented..."hey gal, ya got a hitch in yer giddey-up" one guy exclaimed. "You been wrestling with God lately?" another questioned. I smiled. "No, I just didn't stretch before running, hoping to save a little time...ironic, huh?" They nodded knowingly.

And now I needed more than time, I needed to haul buns. I was in charge of our church women's event taking place in too days, and I couldn't muster the gumption to get off my chair. So much for "Hinds Feet on High Places", I'll settle for "Able to Amble with Advil" I muttered.

Each day I tried a new remedy. First Icy Hot, then a variety of pain killers (not all at once), and finally deep message (ouch). Then I'd give myself the pep talk - come on Colleen, push through the pain...you can do the thing... By the fifth day, I was ready to call My eighty-something Mom and ask to borrow her scooter.

Instead, I had a melt-down with God. At work no less.

I must have looked sad and pathetic with one leg dangling off the little love seat in my office as I cried out to God. I have so much to do, and I can't do anything. I am feeble, and helpless. I keep dropping things, and it hurts to bend down to pick them up! I can't do this event!" I sobbed - like admitting it was a surprise, and like He needed me to pull-off the event. Yet in that act of utter dependence, I felt something I had not experienced in days. I felt a profound sense of peace.

Having not slept well for five nights, I took a nap. When I awoke, something felt different. Rather than the stabbing pain in my hip, a warmness radiated in the wounded muscle, and I knew God was beginning to heal it.

By Friday, I couldn't strut, but I could definitely amble through the women's event. It came off without a hitch. My slight limp reminded me that God delights in displaying His power toward His children when they desperately cry out to Him for help. And like the Apostle Paul, I realized that when I am weak, God can pour out His grace and do far more than I could accomplish with two good hips.

Toothless Grin

As a child, I had it all backwards when it came to God. I felt forgotten. And I could not forget my sins.

Fifth grade seemed like a Right-of-Passage kind of year from little kid to big kid. Big kids have their big teeth. The whole tooth fairy thing was supposed to be completed well before the the day when you walk into fifth grade proudly displaying the pearly whites. My two front teeth, however, decided to wait to make an appearance until later that year. My gummy grin said it all. I was shamefully immature, and thus christened "toothless".

It wouldn't have been so bad to be called by another name by mistake, or to have even been ignored. But to be dubbed by my weakest attribute? Had I not already felt like God was punishing me by moving our family to Ceres, California; I might have shrugged it off easier.

Even the bus driver knew all the other kid's names. Back home, my friends at school called me by name. We'd skip home together, unaware of the need to be self-conscious. Our whole church congregation knew I was the Pastor's kid, and they all knew my name. And no one ever cared if my teeth were in or out.

The only solution was to move back home where I belonged. So I begged God to do it. I prayed it every night. I Imagined it everyday during the hour-ling bus ride through the outskirts of Ceres. But it never happened.

A Sunday school teacher once told me that God didn't answer prayers because of some sin in our lives. I figured I must have a lot of sin.

Decades passed. I'd forgotten the sorrow-filled pleadings of that fifth grader. Yet the sense of inadequacy remained. Unanswered prayers often triggered thoughts like: I wonder what I did wrong now...

One night I asked God to reveal the root of my insecurity. After prayerfully holding the issue before Him, a memory arose in my mind like it happened yesterday.

I could see myself riding home from school, alone on the bus seat. Sad. Forgotten.

The driver pulled up to to my stop. I felt the familiar dread like lead in my stomach. No one ever met me. Everyone had their own lives. I would walk down the road alone, as always.

I looked out the window. This time I saw something different.

There he was, waiting for me. My Dad stood scanning the bus with a look of anticipation in His eyes. I grabbed my stuff, hoping he wasn't a mirage.

It wasn't that Dad meant to ignore me, his mind had been preoccupied with serious things, like relocating his family and starting a new church. He was unaware that I missed the way he used to call me "Darlin." Yet I couldn't help but wonder if I'd done something wrong.

I looked again, just to make sure. A sun ray mirrored the window. Not only could I see my Dad's adoring smile, I could see my own reflection layered on the glass. A ten year old with a toothless grin, so happy to see her Daddy that she forgot to hold her hand in front of her mouth.

I flew down the steps and jumped into His arms.

Between hiccuped sobs, I unloaded my sorrow in the safety of his embrace. His long-awaited answer filled a vacancy in my heart. He simply said "I love you, Darlin."

God remembered the desperate prayers of a ten year old after all. I felt like I belonged again...

"...even these may forget, but I will not forget you." Isaiah 49:15

Gone to the dogs...

While gardening, I heard my neighbor call to her dog. 'Here Trixie, come to momma! Momma loves you! Where's my little snoogums?'
No response.
Then; 'Trixie! I said come!!!'
Nothing.
Then; Trixie, you *!#*^&! Dog! If I ever get my hands on you, I'm gonna...'

And I thought; now there is a bi-polar dog in the making.

My own dog, Sadie, not wanting to disrupt her repose, raised an eyebrow.

Later, I decided to take Sadie for a stroll. Clearly awakened from her stupor, she dragged me around the neighborhood. It's all or nothing with you, girl. huh? I puffed.

While reading the sign clearly stating that all dogs must be on a leash, leashless 'Lester' bound past us at breakneck speed, while his owner begged, pleaded and cajoled him to stop. The dog turned his head as if to acknowledge Sadie without a pause in his pace. The expression on his part Golden Lab, part Wolf face said 'I am in charge, and he is not'. And I thought; now that owner needs to be in a co-dependent recovery group.

Up ahead, a pudgy Pug sporting a sweater seemed to be dancing some kind of jig. He'd take a couple of steps, stop and snort, take a couple more and do the same. Obsessive/compulsive. I noted.

I looked down at Sadie, squatting for her evening duty. While waiting, I thought about possible titles for a new book: Boundaries for Dogs, or: Dogs are from Mars and People are from Venus, or: Dogs, and the People who Love to Hate Them, or my personal favorite: Poopers and Their Scoopers, a Fresh Step.

And then THEY walked by. An Airedale, striding effortlessly beside her master, not pulling on the leash. She plumed past the rest of us like the queen of the community. Her owner said nothing but a proper 'Hello' as the two glided ahead in quiet unison; the epitome of dog/master synchronization.

No dog is born that way. It must have taken years of obedience school, hours of practice, and tons of cash...I rationalized.

I gazed down at the pile in front of me. Of course I'd forgotten the bag. We had to go back home and start over. So frustrated by my forgetfulness, it took a couple of blocks to realize Sadie was walking right beside me.

A breathless woman chasing her errant Cockapoo stopped mid-stride, and gaped at us. 'That is such a well-behaved dog! What is your secret?' she asked.

'No secret, just timing. You caught us between extremes.' I answered.