Christmas in My Heart

11:47 p.m. 12/22/06

It's funny what prompts the muse. She's been silent for months, content to string me along with belligerent thoughts of non-writing, when without warning she arrived with an insistent pounding on the door of my mind.

(Obstinate, self-indulgent little twit.)

So here I sit, bone-weary after a December to remember by sheer number of musical performances and an all-day sojourn to the wilds of southwest Missouri to the House of Shell, compelled to break my months-long silence. This blog will likely be posted sometime tomorrow when I can figure out how to get on-line here at my parents' house, but it's NOW that it must be written. (Refer to paragraph 2 above.)

I just knew I would see somebody I know. I spent all day driving from Nashville, was in a rush to leave this morning so my hair looked a la bed, had on virtually no makeup, didn't feel the greatest, and did I mention the exhaustion? Thought so. Besides, I was meeting the folks for dinner @ Cheddars. It was bound to happen.

I just didn't expect to run into the father of a friend from another life, a man wasted by ridiculous choices he now regrets, so consumed by his human frailty he isolates himself in the crowded room one table over from people he once called "friends."

He's lost the sparkle in his eyes.

His face has rounded, his hair whitened. I was looking into the face of a lonely old man.

"Did you tell her about me? Did you tell her how I messed up?" he queried my mom, half hopeful half fearful. She barely nodded before he went on.

"I messed up big time. Went crazier than I've ever been," he said as he looked down at the table, but it was apparent he saw some internal image he loathed. Before long he looked back up at me with a kind of desperate pleading.

By rights I should disdain him, reject him for his actions. He cheated on, humiliated, abandoned, and divorced his wife, just like my ex did me. He completely wrecked his pastoral ministry, and wreaked havoc in the lives of his children. Yet all I saw was a broken old man, a man to be pitied, a man in desperate need of compassion.

So I leaned down and spoke directly into his ear. "That's why He's a God of grace, Tom."

Decisions have descendents. What we choose today, we live tomorrow; the seeds we plant are the harvest we reap. It's in the Book. How could I hate a man who was so obviously eating the bitter fruit of his decisions? And how many times have I tasted that same bitter juice?

I find myself sad tonight because so many good people miss the mark. They mess up big time and their guilt becomes iron shackles. And no one is immune. We're all one decision away from immeasurable pain.

Sometimes I wonder how anyone makes it. The deception in this world is so all-consuming and subtle; we wouldn't stand a chance without the kind compassion of our Savior. It's why He came.

So I've carried the sadness of my friend's dad tonight and wondered, above all the hubbub and commitments; beyond gift-giving and catching up with family…is it really Christmas in my heart?

That's the descendent I birth.

Colorblind

(This is my week to submit to my writers' group for critique and this is the essay I wrote. I thought I'd post it here, too, since I haven't said anything about Africa since returning. I'm still processing, it'll probably take awhile, but here's the first bit of insight to make it into type. Hope you enjoy!)

Colorblind

My hosts were late.

This really wasn’t unexpected. But the sun was past its zenith sliding toward the horizon, and my stomach was reminding me on a semi-regular basis that it had been awhile since the morning feast.

After four days of Experience as my teacher, however, I reminded myself to stay flexible and settled into the hope they’d arrive before yet another hour passed.

After all, here I was in Africa and life had slowed to a moderate pace where time seemed to ebb and flow instead of marching rigidly to some dreaded future.

It’s amazing how peaceful it is to flow with life instead of attempting to control the wind. It felt positively decadent sitting on the front veranda of the charming hundred-year-old hotel, and not the least bit boring. Besides, there were too many vibrant bird-of-paradise flowers to appreciate, memories of walking with zebras and giraffes to ponder, and pleasant staff with whom to converse to ever be bored.

In fact, I was so intent on just being in the moment that I was thoroughly startled by the sight of a family walking up the garden path.

“Oh! White people. Well, that’s disconcerting.” And that’s when I realized an amazing truth—

I’d completely forgotten I was white.

You’d think that would be difficult to do. I’ve been in this skin almost four decades, and while it’s been numerous shades of tan and red, it’s always been white. To have forgotten, well, that’s a very special kind of amnesia.

See, I had traveled 9,300 miles by plane but light years in my mind to a place I feared didn’t exist and never expected to find. It absolutely overwhelmed me that it was in Zimbabwe, in a place where I should have stuck out like a neon sign in the dead of night that I felt my first real taste of arms-wide-open acceptance and completely forgot myself in the embrace. So total was the heart-connect, it was as if I’d been adopted as an infant and was meeting my birth family for the first time.

How does a white person stick out more in the U.S. than in Africa?

Jesus said the kingdom of God is at hand, is in fact already here. That kingdom used to be little more than a religious phrase to me, but only a divine kingdom on a global scale could make a self-conscious white girl struggling to find her place in the world look across a sea of black African faces and see her tribe. Only something that transcends time and space could enable me to see Filda, Rungano, Charity, Gabriel, Robert, Simba, Funguy, Cleopas, Sarita, Lemmer, Tudor, Chichi, Fadzie, Lwazi, Nkosi and others and hear my heart say “family” instead of “friend.”

I’m not really sure what I went to Zimbabwe looking for, but I never expected to fall in love.

Or find myself in the loosing of self. 

My heart beats in Africa…

Outbound for Africa

Well all, this is it. The Africa adventure begins!

Our flight leaves at 5:15 p.m. today for the first (easy) leg of the trip. We're flying to Baltimore to shuttle 40 miles to Dullas Int'l and spending the night in a hotel.

Tomorrow's the biggie. We leave Dullas Int'l at 12:50  p.m. on South African Air headed for Johannesburg in a 17-hour endurance test. Once in Jo'burg we have a 7-hour layover before another 2-hour flight to Harare, Zimbabwe. We get to Harare @ 9 p.m. Monday night, which is 7 hours ahead of here.

I'm excited and nervous all at the same time. I didn't sleep well last night. No surprise there. And I'm sure it's the first of many disrupted nights, but it's all good. Please pray for physical stamina and strength, health, protection, and above all, sensitivity to His Spirit. I'm expecting big things from this trip, and I am beyond honored to go to God's house in Harare and meet our brothers and sisters there.

What an adventure!

I'm going to Africa.

Today.

Truly, there is nobody like Jehovah!

(See you in two weeks!)

A Little Pat on the Back

Okay, it's embarrasing that I'm doing this AND that I'm just now getting around to it. (How's that for talking out of both sides of my mouth?)

You wanna know something super cool?

I HAVE STUFF ON DISPLAY @ S/A!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That's right. Hanging in the church's foyer gallery for all to see is a line-drawing of Pooh Bear (which I had no idea I could do) and a collection of my photos from last year's trip to Malta.

Truth be told, I'm right proud of myself. In fact, this whole blog is an endeavor to gain attention by reverting to the childhood tactic of "Look at me! Look at me! Look at me!" Okay, maybe not quite that bad, but I AM really excited. You couldn't tell, could ya?!

First of all, it's been a long time since my creativity has been celebrated, and I'm experiencing the pure joy of that. In fact, it was such an unexpected development that I'm downright giddy with the delicious delight of being an artist who's work is on display in our very own gallery. (Did I mention I used to write ad copy for a living? Always put the best possible spin on things, folks!)

Secondly, I'm hoping these lovely images can be a fundraiser for me. See, I'm still about $1,000 short of funds for my Africa mission, so I'd like to sell matted prints of my work to anyone who's interested.

Come on, you know you are! It's for a good cause!! And the water's super duper blue!!

Interested? Comment or send me a message. Right now, the going price is $30 for a matted 8x10 and $20 for a matted 5x7 (previews below). 

Come on...you know you wanna!!

  "Fisher of Men I"

  "Fisher of Men II"

  "Blue Coast Dreams I"

  "Blue Coast Dreams II"

  "Kayak Malta"

  "Mystic Isle"

  "The Narrow Way"

  "I Stand at the Door and Knock"

  "Gate"

  "Faith for All"

  "Ancient Ruins"

Currently Reading Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality By Donald Miller see related

Africa Trip Update