What’s Lent Got To Do With It? – Day One

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first Day of Lent.  All across the Globe, folks are participating in the season of Lent by attending special church services and, in all likelihood, “giving up something for Lent”.  Traditionally, this requires some sort of fasting activity, and its purpose is to bring to mind Jesus’ forty days of fasting while roaming in the wilderness just prior to beginning his ministry; as well as to join us in solidarity with him as we recall that Jesus, too, was continually tempted by evil during this time and other times in his life.  Just as Jesus relied on his Father to deliver him from those periods of trial; so we, too, must rely on God to give us strength in our own struggles.  Obviously, this is something we should do every single day of our lives, but the Lenten period serves as a yearly, focused reminder that we’re probably failing miserably in this regard and need to get back on track.  Is it any wonder, too, that the beginning of this period is the day after Mardi Gras; arguably one of the most self-indulgent days of the year for many?

Frankly, for most of us, making the connection between giving up something for a month and a half to trusting in God is a stretch.  For many, this can turn into a silly, if not pointless activity.  “How can giving up (fill in the blank) bring me closer to God?”  

Good question, and one which I believe can be answered by “It depends on whether you take it seriously” and “It depends on what you give up”.

I’ve only recently returned to this practice of fasting.  I remember half-heartedly going through the motions when I was a teenager but I’m almost certain I never made it through Lent without eating a chocolate bar or chewing a piece of bubble gum or arguing with my mother.  This is not to say that young people today cannot take Lent seriously; I just wasn’t ready to do so when I was 16 years old.  Heck, I wasn’t ready to take anything seriously when I was 16 years old.  In later years, I never remotely considered attempting a fast during Lent because nothing to do with God or Jesus or religion or anything at all of that nature was on my radar screen.  In the spring of 2012, I was finally ready to take it seriously.  WHY that was the case is another long story covered elsewhere in this Blog (see He'll Meet You Wherever You Are )

I don’t think I need to spend much time explaining what I think taking something seriously means, but just to cover that base for a moment;  if I am going to do something; to commit myself to a person, a relationship, a vocation, an activity, an event; I always ponder long and hard before I do so.  Perhaps not everyone does this to the degree I do, however, I have to believe that most people have at least one or two areas in their lives that they are quite serious about and very committed to.  If you can’t wrap your mind around the seriousness of participating in fasting for Lent, I’m not sure you should even bother to attempt it.  In my opinion, someone going through the motions without any true desire to grow from the experience risks hypocrisy.

Taking it seriously, then, should lead a person to give up something meaningful.  So, what should it be?  There are plenty of folks that use this period of time to commit to giving up a bad habit, and I personally think that’s just fine because it’s an excellent opportunity to be reminded how we should rely on God to see us through the challenges and the temptations.  And, as an added bonus, if a person can successfully eliminate whatever the bad habit or behavior is during this forty or so days, they've made big strides and will probably be able to maintain this success after Lent is over.  They will also be in good company with others during this time, a huge, ready-made support group, who will also be struggling through their own particular trials.  Yes, sometimes misery does love AND NEED company. 

But what about those who may not have an obvious bad habit or behavior? There is a story in the Bible about a rich young man who, upon hearing about all of the wonderful things Jesus was teaching and doing and also observing the band of Disciples surrounding Jesus who were both  following him and learning from him; approached Jesus and asked what he had to do to get in on this game, to get into the Kingdom of Heaven.  Jesus initially told him “the basics”; love God, obey the commandments and the laws.  The young man was really happy and pleased with himself because he was already doing all of this.  But Jesus went on.  “Sell all of your possession, give the money to the poor and follow me”.  Oops.  Not what the young man wanted to hear, so he walked away, feeling sad and sorry for himself.  My reason for bringing up this story is that Jesus looks into each of our hearts and sees what we need to give up in order to truly follow him.  Circling back to us giving up something for Lent, it could be something different every year or perhaps the same darn thing that  remains a stumbling block in our faith-walk.  Whatever the case, there is something for everyone.

My guess is, after prayerful consideration and perhaps some nudges from the Holy Spirit, you may already have a pretty good idea of what it should be.  Remember.  It’s not something simple, just ask the rich young man.   If you find yourself toying with the idea of giving up something you don’t even do in the first place (in my case that would be watching T.V.) or something you don’t have any sort of problem not doing (for me that would be smoking) or some activity you are already not doing due to your life circumstance (in my husband’s case that would be sleeping because he’s a CPA and it’s tax season), then I suggest you circle back to the “take it seriously” part before proceeding any further.

Mrs. B

Up Next:  Give and Take

My Dear Margot

My Dear Margot:

Three years ago today, we said good-bye.  I don't know that I've told too many people what happened that late morning; Father, of course, and a few others but mostly I've kept it to myself because it was such a poignant moment between the two of us.  Surreal, too; but then again, the entire situation was totally incomprehensible to me, from the moment you told me of your diagnosis to that early pre-spring day you slipped away from me forever.  Losing you was devastating to me, but in your parting, you gave me a gift that I can never thank you enough for.  

Over the course of the months after your death, I came to realize my life was built on a foundation of sand. Anything, either positive or negative, had the potential to shake me to the core, a core I kept quite hidden from everyone, including myself.  Somewhere in the middle of all of my thoughts and actions; my emotions and resulting behavior, was "the" question, "Why?";  followed in quick succession by "What now?"  Practical as always, I initially distracted myself from dwelling overly much on these questions by doing what most folks do when someone close to them dies, all of it necessary and perhaps even a bit helpful to the grieving process.

Knowing your wishes, Father and I contacted all whom you wanted contacted, bequeathed all you wanted bequeathed and donated clothing and other items to organizations that we knew you'd approve of.  We spent the weeks following your death getting things done;  not overly surprising, given both of our personalities. During those days and nights, we had long conversations about you, sharing memories, stories and at times incredulity that this had happened to you and to us.  True to your desires, we declined to place an obituary in the paper or hold any sort of service.  I know this was difficult for some of your friends to understand, but they honored our decision.  I found out later that your friends from your book club ended up holding their own service for you and I'm sure others did something similar.  Father and I decided, after some amount of time had passed, to write a memorial, a story of your life and character, something that would honor your memory.  It took us a while to get it done because we both wanted it  to be "perfect"; in fact, it took well over a year but it was most certainly a labor of love with many others contributing to its compilation as well.

I began to tackle that project shortly after your passing.  Mark and I were still living in North Carolina, although it was now clear that we'd be moving to Florida and plans were in place to make that happen. During the first eight months of our life in our new house in Florida, I worked on your book, picking the perfect pictures to go alongside the story of your life that Father and I were writing. Looking back, I know this was cathartic; in fact, I think I realized before I even began that it would be since I'd done something similar when I lost both Nigel and Clyde.  Still, underlying the process that would led to a physical product, something was bothering me.

I thought at first what was bothering me was a combination of missing you and irritation at a few people for not providing sufficient care for my feelings. During that time there were, of course, people to offer me love and sympathy, but I'll admit I was surprised with the lack of care I received from some people. Thankfully, though, I was also bowled over with gratitude from care I received from unexpected sources, in some cases, people I didn't know very well at all.  Throw in the stress of a move, selling a house, buying a  house, and Mark starting our business, well, I suppose there's no shortage of reasons why I may have felt a bit wiggy at times.  But what was truly bothering me was something I know most people feel when they lose someone, "What's the point?"

Then, for some incomprehensible reason, Mark and I decided to start attending our local Methodist Church. I know that you and I rarely spoke of God or religion, and I have to say, in addition to missing you in a thousand other ways, I wish so much that you were here to share in this new journey with me.  Of course, I would have wished for you ultimately to come to believe in Jesus Christ, but it's even more base than that; I know you would have been fascinated and interested in the changes going on within me.  Whether you agreed or not, you would have listened.  I've said many times that you were always my biggest fan and champion.  I know without a shadow of a doubt you would have cheered me on and supported me in all that I've come to believe and act upon in these past two and a half years.    

That foundation of sand I spoke of earlier is being replaced by sturdier stuff.  Fears, worries and my ever-present desire to control everything are fading away into longer and longer moments of peace, patience and trust.  What some people don't get, but I think you would, is that this is more important than anything else because it frees me to go help someone else.  Isn't that what it's all about in the long run? Love God.  Love Each Other.

My decision to pursue being a Stephen Minister is a combination of who I am, who I've always been, plus all of the seeds that were planted along the way beginning from when you first told me of your diagnosis through the completion of my Disciple study when my fellow Disciples encouraged and supported me to pursue it as a direct acknowledgement of my spiritual gift of care giving.  As I've been sitting here this morning reflecting on you and your life; on us and all that we shared together as stepmother, stepdaughter and friends, I realized that God truly does bring goodness out of every situation, even the most heartbreaking ones.  I know you'd get that.

So, on this day three years ago, you were lingering.  Everyone at Hospice was surprised that you were holding on.  I'd been down in Sarasota visiting with Mom and Dad; Father was at home waiting for me to arrive.  Before I left Sarasota, I'd called Hospice to talk with them; they told me you were resting comfortably but not coherent.  As such, I didn't plan on stopping in until later, after I had the chance to get Father.  Yet, as I drove by Hospice, a strong feeling came over me, an urge, to stop.  When I walked in, the nurse seemed surprised to see me but led me into your room where you were indeed resting quietly.  I thought I'd said my final good-byes to you two days earlier before I went down to Sarasota and yet, as they'd told us, you were lingering.  I walked over to your bed and took your hand and told you all that was on my heart.  I reminded you what your friend Heather had asked me to tell you, that she'd meet you in the garden when her time came.  I promised to be there for Father.  I assured you that we'd be alright and, as I kissed your forehead, I whispered to you that it was time for you to go.  Saying good-bye was always hard for you, I know. As I wrote at the end of your book:

"Margot hated to say good-bye.  Anyone who knew her well knows this.  If someone was visiting and it came time for them to get in their car and leave, or, if she was the one doing the leaving, she'd have to choke back the tears.  She wasn't even always able to be present when a person was leaving. In fact, it wasn't until much later in my adult life that she would be present when I left...as I came to understand her sadness, I made a point of leaving her a note to find after I left...Usually, it was simple, like, 'Thank you for everything!  I'll see you again!  I love you!'  So, yes, good-byes were tough. It's tough for me now to finish this up because it is, in essence, like a final good-bye...If I know my Margot, she's up in Heaven figuring it all out...keeping busy while waiting for her loved ones to arrive...And so my dear Margot, until then.  'Thank you for everything!  I'll see you again!  I love you!'"

In the fifteen minutes it took me to drive from Hospice to the house, you left.  

And everything changed.

Mousie

50...Just Like 49!

So what the heck, right?  Where have I been?  In general, I've noticed a decided falling off in my writing, ALL of my writing.  I've been on my current journal (notebook) for three years.  This would have been unheard of 10 or 15 years ago when I filled up a notebook with my scribbling deep thoughts in a few months.

The other night as I was writing in the current one (and really had to force myself to do so), I realized I'm pretty much over myself these days.  My life in present form is good; steady and basically calm and peaceful (and whatever blips there are just ain't that interesting).  What else could I write about now that could possibly top all the dirt and juicy tid-bits I wrote about in my salad days?  Come to think of it, it may actually be a great idea to just toss them all (but I probably won't).

So, this Blog.  I may have shot my wad with this, too.  I'll have to mull it over some before I pull the plug. Maybe I'll get a revival of interesting story ideas; it's fairly apparent not many folks are titillated by my spiritual musings but I may turn this into a spot for me to play around with Christian-based writing.  I've been trying my hand at a few Devotions; so, if they don't get published anywhere else, I can always post 'em here.

In the meantime, the beat goes on in the House of B.  It's tax season, which means we are busy.  In addition to this, we're taking a Disciple II (Bible study) course that is fairly intensive and I'm in training to become a Stephen Minister (commissioned April 2014).

As for the age thing, well.  It's true what they say.  It's just a number; one I'm happy to have reached.  The big 5-0 birthday trip to New Orleans and 9 night Caribbean cruise was just about perfect.  I am one very blessed old broad.

Mrs. B

Shake Rattle and Roll to 50

Several months ago, I got serious about Rocking 50.  I even posted quite a bit about my plans to do so.  As it is turning out, it looks as though I'll be doing more shaking, rattling and rolling, than rocking, into my 5th decade.

Confession.  It's been bugging me more than I thought it would.  NOT turning 50, but all of the changes in my body that, no matter what I do, I can't turn back the clock on. And, the fact that, all of my "tried and true" tricks, the ones that worked like a charm when I was in my 30s and even my mid 40s, well, let's just say this old dog needs some new ones.

A week ago, Mr. B and I went to a formal wear (tuxes and gowns) place to get him a new tux.  Since they had gowns, I figured I'd try a few on while he was getting measured for his tux.  Loaded down with an armful of lovely frocks, I went into the dressing room and proceeded to have an extremely depressing time of it trying on dress after dress that either looked totally ridiculous, or made me look like a sausage or an aging mermaid with a pot belly.  Truly, I was in mourning for my rockin' abs of my late 30s/early 40s.  When did they leave?  How come I cannot seem to get them back?  

Enter Mr. B to help me with some of the more difficult dress contraptions.  Let me tell you.  This did not help matters as he wrested zippers while I stood there saying "Why won't it go up"?  "Well, you're too broad in the back". WHAT?  Talk about a not very funny scene reminiscent of an I Love Lucy show.  He tried to save the moment by explaining it was due to all of my working out at the gym; it was muscle, not back fat.  Well, thank you, universe.  And, oh by the way, said universe, while gleefully spreading the areas between tummy and knee, has woefully neglected to expand my chest area.  Which means the dresses that look good waist down sag quite unbecomingly in the top.  Finally, the clerk took pity on us and brought in a lovely plum colored gown that fit well and wasn't too expensive, either.  I should have bypassed all the torture and just asked her to pick something out in the first place.  I still haven't worked up the courage to look a the tag to see what size the dress is.

Yesterday, for whatever insane reason, I decided to try on my other evening gowns to make sure they fit.  Actually, it was a good thing to do because one of them didn't really look that great any more and if I'd taken it on board the ship with the expectation that I would be wearing, it, well, we may have dined en suite that night!  The other one will do, but I'll probably have to resort to wearing control top pantyhose to give me a tighter silhouette.  This realization left me in a somewhat foul mood.

Last night, we went out to a networking/social gathering; lots of folks Mr. B knows through our business.  I've met a lot of them before, at other events.  One young lady, probably about 25 (if that), was parading around in skin tight jeans, probably size 0, with a little middy top and high heels; long hair trailing down her back in a way that only girls of that age can manage to carry off well.  Touching my recently bobbed hair and thinking that my own jeans were feeling a bit on the tight side, I tried to not let it bug me.  I mean, why SHOULD it bug me?  I was 25 once and had some great times prancing around looking like that.  If I stopped and thought about it, that chick likely has some difficult times ahead of her in the next 25 years (like I did); not something I'd care to repeat, not even if I could look like that again.  

At one point in the evening, I came across her walking in front of me.  She'd put on a cute little Santa hat, with fake leopard "fur" instead of the usual white "fur" as trim.  She stopped and turned around, except it wasn't her, it was another lady I know who is 62 years old.  I was a bit flabbergasted.  I also found it hard not to stare at her very large and plastic-iky perky bosom.  Apparently, that is what she spent her surgical dollars on, not her face, which, although very attractive, still looked to be a 60 year old face.

We spoke for awhile and then I watched as she teetered off with a leering old man in her wake.  I glanced at my husband (who was NOT watching her teeter off) and realized I'd just received a message.

I think I've been receiving these messages for a while, but just haven't been paying attention.  For example, a few weeks earlier, I was looking at a website that promised if you don't eat or drink these five foods, you'll banish belly fat (which, really, seems to be my main culprit these days), in a few short weeks.  

Well, three of the five were coffee, wine and dark chocolate. You may as well shoot me now, because that just ain't gonna happen!

Nor am I going to have the time to work out hours each day ,or will I stop eating.

You get my drift here?  I am not willing to do the things I'd have to do to get back (assuming I ever could) to how I looked when I was younger.  Frankly, there are a few things I couldn't change, anyway; which would result in me possibly looking like the 62 year old lady at the party last night.  So, if I'm not going to do these things, that leads me to the place where I have to LET IT GO.  No, no, I don't mean this as in, let ME go; just move on towards Part Two.

I bet most of you who were reading my earlier entries about Rocking 50 already figured that out, huh?

Last night while falling asleep, a thought, a voice, said to me, "Stop wasting time and energy wishing for what you've already had but can never have again.  Get up and move on".

But FIRST, I'm going to send Mr. B to the closet with a pair of scissors to cut out that size tag before I see it.

And THEN I will totally Rock 50!

Mrs. B

He'll Meet You Wherever You Are: Conclusion

After that first evening at Harvest, this is what I recorded in my journal:

“Went to church for the first time in ~ 30 years tonight. I saw an ad in a local paper for this church, Harvest Methodist.  They’re doing a sermon series addressing many of the areas about church/religion/organized religion that I’ve had problems with.  So, we decided to try it and it wasn’t awful.  Frankly, I think it’s a good place to start to re-explore…what?  My faith?  Not sure I’ve ever had any.  To find something?  That is probably more like it.  Certainly, it’ll be a way to get to know people, at the very least.  All I know is this.  I have to do something different.  I can’t live my life looking forward only to vacations and getting pissed off when things don’t go right (or my way).  I‘d like to be a nicer, kinder person, certainly, a better wife.  Well, we’ll see.  We went, and I think we’ll go back next Thursday”.

And we did go back the following Thursday (eventually switching to one of the Sunday services); and the rest, as they say, is history!

From weekly worship to gradually becoming involved in multiple Bible studies and other ministries, to volunteering to serve communion once a month to supporting other church activities, the two of us have most decidedly found a church home.  Not that it’s all been easy because at times it’s been very painful facing ourselves, some of the things we’ve done (or not done), and forgiving other people who we thought we’d never be able to forgive.

It’s also been a challenge interacting with people from our lives who, if not thinking we’ve gone totally off the deep end, are, at the very least, indulging us with symbolic pats on our backs and a “There, there, there; if it makes you happy, I’m happy for you!” Still harder for me has been what to say to THEM.  It’s true; those who are on fire for God, who’ve recently joined The God Squad; want to spread the word; want others to understand and feel the same way.  However, over time, I am learning that this is not really my job or responsibility;  I mean, I can share what I feel called to share, but in the end, it’s up to them what they chose to do with it.  I’ll leave that up to God and these individuals to work it out (or not).

I’m in the middle of a study now where the author is discussing how there can really be no transformation (in a person’s life) without there first being a revelation.  When I look back on all that’s occurred in the past two years, and, most importantly, meditate on who Amy was then versus now, I can see how all these little changes here and there have added up to a transformation. 

A while ago, a dear friend of mine, whom I was associated with in the years I was married to my first husband and therefore I was then not in any way, shape or form associated with God, asked me the following:

Amy, how did you get to the point you are right now spiritually? I know I'm on my way, but you seemed to get it right away. Maybe I am just too negative of a person. Any suggestions?

Ok, the fact she was asking ME this question in and of itself is pretty rocking amazing!  Here is what I said, and it’s what I’d say to anyone desiring a closer relationship with God:

Wow, what a question and a great one, too. I think the fact you are asking the question is a wonderful testament to your desire to grow in your faith. It's so interesting that you asked me this NOW, because I'm in the middle of a new study at church where we've been reflecting on exactly this; where we are today vs. "before". I think for most of us, as with most things, change/growth simply does not happen overnight. It begins with small adjustments and tweaks we make that at the time may not seem like much, but, when we look back, we can begin to see how they've built upon one another and grown to the point where we eventually are changed in significant ways. The author of the book explained it this way; "It's like watching a tendril of ivy as it starts out. If you stare at it, it doesn't do much, but if you go back every week or so to check its progress, you can see its growth. And, when you look at it a year or two or three later, it's totally taken over the wall". Speaking for me now, this was the right time for me to be planted. It's not that I never had the opportunity before to embrace God, I just chose not to. Two years ago was my time and I desired it. I think that's the most important thing. A person has to desire it. No amount of someone trying to coax you into it will help (I'm learning that, too!) YOU need to be ready. I am extremely blessed in that my husband was as eager as I to begin this journey. That's not to say someone cannot do this if their significant other (or family/friends) aren't coming along because I've met plenty of folks who attend church and yet their families do not. It's just easier, is all. Also, we found THE BEST church and church family. I can't stress how important this has been for us. THE BEST in every possible way. We walked in and have never left. For two people that hadn't been to church (save for life events) in 30 years, that's incredible in and of itself. If you haven't already, find a church where you feel at home. And GO. Yes, of course life happens and we can't always attend, but, try to go. Also, get involved in and with The Word. Go to Sunday School. Join a  Bible study or join another team that speaks to your talents. Attend some of the special events your church might put on, like Advent or Good Friday services. Serve. Help out at events, offer to serve communion. Join a ministry team. All of this, little by little, bit by bit, opens your heart, mind and soul to receive God's Word and do His will. And PRAY PRAY PRAY PRAY PRAY. However and whenever you can. Everyone does this in their own way and there is no wrong way. Even if all you do at first is recite The Lord's Prayer or read Psalms or recite back scripture you may have memorized, it's all praying/talking to God. One of our Pastors has a fantastic model to follow for growing in faith which he encourages all of us to try. 40.20.10. Be in worship 40 weeks out of the year. Read the Bible 20 days of the month. Pray 10 minutes per day. It's easy to remember and very doable. And remember, Christ desires perseverance, not perfection. Some days will still be not very good days; sometimes your attitude may not be what you want it to be. That's ok. Keep trying! As our other Pastor says, "Just. Keep. Swimming!" The fact that you are asking ME this question is just another wonderful example of how God works. 

  

And the revelation that had to occur before any of my transformation occur?  It came in the form of a toss away newspaper that I didn’t even look at most of the time.  God revealed Himself to me in a message series that spoke to MY heart; that addressed all of my excuses for not going to church; for not opening the door to a relationship with Him.  

God met me where I was, and He led me home. 

Mrs. B

He'll Meet You Wherever You Are: Part Two

When my stepmother passed away in March of 2011, I recall calling my older sister and talking to her about her death.  I was, quite understandably, very upset and very emotional.  I was crying and I remember my sister asked me, “Do you believe in Jesus”?  I was gulping for air and I said I did; but, frankly, I was later mad at her for bringing Jesus up at a time like this.  Why?  Because I thought that she was doing so not because she really wanted me to know and love Jesus, but because she wanted to convert me.  Later, she did a few more things that totally pissed me off so that I found myself thinking “Ha, some Christian she is!” The thing is; her questions? They were another seed.

So, back to the message series at the local church (which turned out to be Harvest United Methodist). I showed the paper with the advertisement from the church  to my husband.  I told him this church was literally five minutes away from us and what did he think?  Didn’t it look interesting?  He took it, read it, and without hesitation said, “Sure, we can go if you want”. I don’t remember what day that was; it may have been a Friday, because we began discussing if we should go that coming Sunday.  We initially decided to go, but by Saturday night, I was already having second thoughts about the whole thing.  I mean, SUNDAY?  That’s tomorrow!  I don’t know, maybe I don’t want to do this? 

One of the great things about my husband is, he’s not a pusher.  Ok, maybe he wasn’t sure, either; come to find out he had his own very personal reasons for avoiding church, but, when I got cold feet, he didn’t argue with me.  So, we did not go that Sunday but I just couldn’t get that message series out of my head.  I WANTED to know what they were going to say.  I wanted to believe that there were people who believed in God who were not judgmental.  And, there was also the whole “getting to know people” thing that we’d promised each other we’d do.  And, in all honesty, I was beginning to wonder what exactly I was going to do with the second part of my life, now that I’d seemingly “done it all”.  So, I next told him I thought we should go to their Thursday night service.  An hour, was all.  Maybe it wouldn’t be very crowded, either; we wouldn’t have to deal with a lot of people and if we didn’t  go back, not that many folks would have seen us there.  I’m serious; this is what was running through my mind when we decided to try to go that coming Thursday! 

This time, we went.  Thursday September 29^th 2011.  A bright, sunny afternoon and the parking lot at the church was relatively empty (whew, I thought).  We walked up to the doors of the church and before we reached them, they were thrown open by a man and a woman with big smiles on their faces.  “Welcome to Harvest!”, they said.  We were both a bit taken aback by their cheerfulness but (when we reflected on it later), it was genuine. It was pretty quiet inside the gathering area of the church; only a handful of other people there.  The lady, Nancy, asked us if this was our first time at Harvest because I’m sure all first time people have the same look in on their faces that we did; a mixture of uncertainty, shock, deer in the headlights, and resolve.  Yes, yes, we said and we spent a few moments with them telling them about us and why we were there (the draw of the message series).  They themselves were not attending that evening’s service but were helping out with one of the children’s ministries.  They introduced us to the youth minister/music coordinator and off we went with him.  From there, we happened to meet Steve, one of the Pastor, and chatted with him a bit before heading in for the service. 

One of the things I remember the most about that evening, other than who we met, was my doggedness in refusing to take communion.  I told my husband that I wasn’t ready to do that and I felt it would be fake to get up there and take communion when I’d not set foot in  a church for 30 years.  Not that I felt my husband was being fake by deciding to do so; it was a very personal feeling.  That evening’s message centered on  when Christians say the wrong thing.  Oh, boy.  Catherine, the other Pastor led the service and I remember being extremely nervous and uncomfortable, but at the same time, totally interested in what she had to say.  Lastly, one of the songs sung that night was one I’ve come to love called “Cry Out to Jesus” by Third Day and the line that stuck with me all the entire night was “He’ll meet you wherever you are”.  

To Be Continued!

Mrs. B

He'll Meet You Wherever You Are: Part One

Two years ago today, my husband and I walked into a church for the first time for both of us (save for weddings, baptisms, and funerals) in over thirty years.  It’s something that still amazes us now; that we did this, especially in light of the fact that, up to this point of time when we made the decision to go, we’d never talked about God, or Jesus, or religion for any length of time at all.  Yes, we met via an online Christian dating company (eHarmony), and, yes, there were some spiritual questions that we answered as part of that process, but, it wasn’t something we spent time discussing during our first meeting, or subsequently.  We figured we were pretty darn lucky that we’d been matched up and that was about it. 

When we moved to Florida many years later, we were in the process of making some changes; many major, others slight.  I am coming to understand, in hindsight, that it is the small changes that have the potential to add up to something big.  What were some of the smaller changes?  We’d decided to be open to meeting new people, especially our neighbors.  Neither one of us are the most extroverted of souls, so, this really was a challenge, even if it seemed easy enough to do.  This meant saying "Hi" to people, talking to people, not doing the avert eyes thing when someone came towards us out on the street, all of that.  We also decided to get involved, somehow.  

Not too long after we moved in, our neighbor across the street approached us when we were out walking our dog (and since we’d decided to try and talk to people, we didn’t attempt to avoid her) and, after a few minutes of chit chat, asked us in a very friendly way if we’d found a church yet (she knew that we’d moved from another state).  I’m sure we gave her that sort of glassy eyed look of those who really don’t want to be standing on the street discussing something that we’d never even discussed amongst ourselves.  Truthfully, I can’t remember what we told her other than it might have been something like “No, we haven’t”.  End of statement.  She went on  to invite us to go to church with her and her husband one Sunday; something I’m sure, again, we politely made noises like “Maybe” and “Thanks” but with zero intention of ever doing so. All in all this was not a major encounter, and, she did not pester us about it, however, in hindsight, it was a small seed that had been planted; her invitation made us think about it.  Church.  Church.  Maybe this would be one way to get involved in the community and, what?  Garner clients for our new and fledgling business?  Perhaps. 

In any event, a few weeks later, a local toss away paper called The Observer (which is delivered to our driveway every Thursday whether we want it or not) ran an advertisement of sorts about a message series one of the local churches was doing.  I remember thumbing through this publication one night  and seeing the church's ad, “When Christians Get It Wrong”.  I quickly went past it, continued to glance at the rest of the paper, then, turned back to it.  I read the rest of the ad and realized that the series was centering on all the things that give Christians a bad reputation; you know  liked being judgmental, unforgiving, pious, holier than thou, disapproving of divorce, abortion, homosexuals, other religions, you name it.  In all honesty, probably the primary reasons why I’d stayed out of church for the past thirty years.   

Prior, I’d voluntarily attended a Lutheran church and been baptized and confirmed in it when I was a teenager, and yet,  I’d walked away for no real reason.  Probably, it just didn’t stick because I was a young girl who had other things on my mind than being a good Christian young lady.  Meaning no disrespect to my parents, I had very little support or encouragement from them to either remain involved with the church or  to have a relationship with God.  So, leaving didn’t seem like a big deal, and it wasn’t .

Unfortunately, there were plenty of people around me in the ensuing years who discouraged me from entering into a relationship with Him; either those who were influential in my life who refused to believe that He existed  OR (and actually probably worse) those who did believe, but were so strident about it that it totally turned me off.  Looking back, I see now that I wanted to believe, but I just couldn’t bring myself to be in a relationship with a God I thought  was hateful, prejudiced, biased, didn’t forgive, and probably didn’t want a relationship with me, anyway, because I’d really screwed up a few things in my life.     

Finally it simply became my habit not to think overly much about God; however, I never didn’t believe in Him, if that makes any sense.  

To Be Continued!

Mrs. B