Showing posts with label Prayer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Prayer. Show all posts

Sunday, September 20, 2015

Post MBA and Finding Rest

I have been on a two-year journey to earn my MBA degree. Every Monday night for 4.5 hours plus countless hours outside of class and many more thinking about the schoolwork I should be doing just as soon as I work a little, sleep a little, cook a little, clean a little, etc. If you have been down this non-traditional-student road you know what I mean:
  • It is a crazy time.
  • You are not a student. 
  • You know nothing about being a student anymore. 
  • You work full-time. 
  • You have people who depend on your paycheck.
  • And, You haven’t pulled an ‘all-nighter’ in a decade (except the time everyone got a stomach bug in tandem). Or maybe that one is just me.
  • You only thought you knew tired. 

But, it is over. Complete. Finished. Accomplished. Who Hoo!

If you had asked me how I felt in the first few weeks of post-grad life, I would have said, “Out-of-whack.” I am sure that two years of anything intense leaves you with an immense sense of imbalance. At first, you can handle things pretty well, but by the last half, you have stacks of neglected chores, paperwork, and relationships, which desperately need your attention, and you feel it down-deep.

And mostly, I felt out-of-whack with God. My prayer life has been stagnant, and bible study has been a joke. Honestly, it has been dry, stale and just bad. And, I know it shows. I have felt like the grocery cart that I always get stuck with (by grocery cart I really mean "buggy" - in the south we say "buggy"). I look perfectly functional and capable and steady, but I really wish someone would pull me out of the lineup before my malfunction becomes evident to the whole store and I am an embarrassment to “buggies” everywhere.

Can you relate? Do you ever need to get your spiritual act together but it is so hard to do? Life is still coming at you fast. I mean my people needed me to get finished with class and get with the program – STAT! On top of the normal chaos, we moved the weekend of my last class and there was so much work to be done. I won't even tell you about the last 8 months in an apartment crammed full of boxes and boxes and exploding with furniture. I was exhausted. 

When I was searching for a Bible study to dig into, I ran across a study on Ruth. It was recommended to me a few months ago by a woman who didn’t even know me. It was one of those casual conversations that somehow led straight to the heart of the void of my life and I think she could see it. I felt like this was something I should pay attention to, so I bought the study guide and I stacked it with the stacks of stacks that had stacks - I know you know.

I unearthed it a few weeks ago, and I began a new journey. A journey both forward and back.

It actually felt a bit awkward getting back into regular prayer and study time. It was not as awkward as becoming a college student again, thankfully. There are no log-ins, deadlines or pressures to perform. God has been patient, and good, and he smiled when he could have yelled, and he is giving me the rest I need most. Rest from measuring up. Rest from keeping up. Rest from guilt. Rest from shame. (That was it, a break from me. Me doing but not being.) Ahh.
His word is healing and it feeds my soul and it is slowly fixing my broken, "buggy" wheels.

#War Room, #Wearealldaughters #DaughtersofJoy #Justwrite


Thursday, September 17, 2015

Masterpiece

Excited friends to paint our materpiece
In October, several years ago, I went to one of those paint-it-and-take-it-home-canvas studios with some eager friends on a Saturday night. It was a new craze then, and we were excited to be together for a fun night of painting and laughs. I was not alone in my anticipation of a canvas-trophy worth displaying in my home. We had purposely chosen this night because the colors in The Red Door painting we would create would work well in all our homes.
With blank canvas as our stage, smocks donned and our chosen Starbucks drink at our side, we were ready for our night of art and friendship. Susie, the master-painter, stood at the helm ready to instruct and guide in proper brush technique and paint application. We were enthusiastic students with noble intentions..."Yes we will do exactly as you say Miss Susie because we want to paint a picture just like you."
Me and Martha Brown
When Susie told us to use the big fat brush we all picked it up and dabbed here and there. Then, we tried the smaller brush. Next, we were mixing colors and applying techniques. It was so much fun being an artist! Before long my confidence in my abilities was high and I looked over at my friend Tyra's picture and was disturbed to realize, it looked nothing like my own! My friend Lisa's picture looked nothing like my own!! I got a little stressed. Then, I got behind. Before I could catch up Susie was two steps ahead and I had no idea what to do. So I found myself looking at my friends and asking, "What did I miss?" Thankfully, they told me. But my friends were not experts like Miss Susie, they were, like me, canvas painting novices. I still felt a little stressed.
Susie kept saying, "Don't worry about what it looks like now. Just wait until we add the foliage at the end and it will all come together!" She said this a few times, so at this point I was not so sure. But she was right, it did come together at the end. I did get a picture to take home (maybe not a masterpiece), and so did everyone in the room.
It was so interesting to see the differences in the art around the room. There were no two alike. But somehow, they ALL looked like Susie's. We were all proud of each other as many compliments and smiles were exchanged between old and new friends.
Several things struck me as we ended our journey together that evening:
  • We all started the evening without knowing how we would finish.
  • We all realized each woman tried their best and the individual result was praise-worthy.
  • We found common bond in our imperfection.
Women are so cool sometimes!
I drove home that evening with a wish for our daily journeys to resemble that evening in the painting studio. I wished that we would collectively realize none of us really know what we are doing, but we are in this together. To know we are so different because God made us this way for a reason. He knows some of us will get distracted and fall behind. This is why he gave us a friend who is working toward the same goal. A sojourner following the master painter like us, only a bit farther down the road. We can look to them for help. I just needed some helpful hints to get back on track with my masterpiece. If Tyra had said, "You need to pay attention," I might have never finished my picture. If Lisa had said, "No you are doing it all wrong," I might have gotten discouraged. We need each other, not for reprimand but for a helping hand. And at the end of the evening, my picture is not supposed to look like my friends', it need only resemble the Master's.
I prayed then and do today: "Let me lighten your load, not make it heavier. Before I do anything else worthy: bake a cake for the bake sale, drop off more donations, sign up for the next volunteer slot, let me show mercy to my sister where ever she is on her journey. Amen."

#masterpiece #wearealldaughters #weneedeachother

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Indian Corn

From 2009
Some of the best times the most golden moments are the ones that happen right before "lights out" at our house. I wonder at how quickly the bedtime routines have gone from reading the well-loved and worn story books to "just thirty more minutes on the computer, please?" But for today my youngest, Hatty, still wants to share her bedtime thoughts and prayers with me...as they say "priceless".
It was one of those nights a few months ago, Spring maybe, and I was on the ladder that leads to Hatty's loft bed where she lay. Standing on the ladder I am face to face with my sweet girl as she pours her heart out in prayer to God. Oh my, I wish you could hear the things that are on her heart, I am amazed at her tender words.
But anyway, this night as she looks me over as we are so close she plays with my hair. And after "Amen." and before "I love you." she says..."Mom your hair is so beautiful! It has so many pretty colors...just like Indian Corn!" (she should be a diplomat or at least in PR) She was right my hair has many colors (dark brown, red, gray, blonde, gray)..just like 'Indian Corn'-Priceless!

#warroom #justwrite #bedtimeprayers

Things Change

It seems I always come back from a vacation with thoughts that will not leave me alone until I sort them out. I must organize them, label them, and leave them in order so I can reference them from time to time. That’s the way it is today…as I upload pictures from our beach trip, two words keep repeating themselves “Things change.” I’ve both said and heard said hundreds of times…”Things change.” Travel down a stretch of road you’ve not visited in a year or two – Things change. bump into a friend you remember from college – Things change. Compare photos of your kids from one beach trip to the next – Things change. Our attention is diverted with tasks and obligations until getting through the day turns into years. We are reminded by the obvious of our negligence to be in the moment, and all we can offer in defense is…”Things change.”
But really that is natural-those changes we confront because time passes and progress happens. But whats washing up like waves competing for my attention against my stacks of laundry tonight are the changes I don’t make allowances for-the ones that really catch me looking the other way.
This week while on vacation, I received a phone call from a dear friend about a tragic death in her family. I also recently received other email telling of a cancer diagnosis. Both of them were a shock to me. Have I not learned my lesson yet? Guess not. Things Change. Yes, they do – but not in years or months, sometimes daily. Not in manageable doses, but in unimagined pronouncements. Its not always on the calendar what the next day will bring-we should all know this by now.
So I have to ask myself should I just live in dread? Always expecting bad news? The answer can’t believe I asked the question.
Do not live in anticipation of the next crisis – Just Live! Just Live!
But really live. I mean don’t just live hoping to survive the next unexpected phone call…Live expecting to Thrive, to Bless, to Inhale Deeply, to Love Hard, to Move Forward, to Forgive everyone, to Cherish today. Because really what is the alternative “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life?” (not me, not you).
I choose what to do with this day, this wild and fragile moment. Whatever I choose I can say for certain It will pass…Things change.
(Summer 2009)

#vacation #justwrite #thingschange

Remembering Mom

My Mom on right with her beloved sister Darlene on the left.
Janice Theola Simpson Shockney was born in a time that seems very far from here. Far from cell phones and email messages, Mom recalls the first telephone in her home when she was the age of 9 or 10. Not only a time without TV but without air conditioning and hot water heaters as well. Her childhood was a time when milk-men made deliveries instead of UPS men. It was a time when stories were told for evening entertainment and doctors made house calls. When no one was afraid to leave doors unlocked or worried over children disappearing outside for hours because that’s what kids did, played outside. Until dark!
Mom was the middle child of Theola and John Roscoe Simpson. Darlene her older sister was her best friend and they both adored and spoiled their younger brother Donald. My mom’s simple upbringing in Nashville Tennessee would prepare her for the life she lived with my Dad, Nelson Gary Shockney, Sr. She and my Dad were neighbors as kids in East Nashville but did not begin dating until after High School. My dad told her almost immediately, “He wanted to make her his bride.” But they didn’t marry until Dad returned home from his service in the Army because Mom wanted to be sure and not make a mistake that might lead to divorce like her parents.
Mom and Dad lived in Atlanta and then settled in Goodlettsville with my brother, Gary, and then later me. Our little house on Moss Trail was destroyed by fire in 1970 which led to a move to Robertson County where we tried to blend in with the locals and learn to be country folk! The house where we lived was remodeled around us and over us and we endured calamity and chaos including a flood in the basement, a barn that burned, and a well that constantly needed re-priming to insure enough water.
We tried hard to become farmers but we weren’t fooling many onlookers in those early attempts at planting and harvesting. It was much closer to an episode of Green Acres than a panoramic view of Scarlett O’Hara’s Tara in Gone with the Wind. I assure you. But we all enjoyed living in the country with fruit trees and fresh produce. Mom became an expert at canning our bounty and we raised a few ponies and cows which Gary and I thought was pretty cool. Mom worked at the Social Security Administration until taking early retirement in the late 80’s. When Dad’s health declined to the point he could no longer work, they moved into Gallatin and enjoyed what Mom would say were the happiest years they had together until Dad died in 1996.
We are all shaped by our parents and I am no exception. I hear my Mother‘s voice when I remind my girls to take a sweater or they will be cold in the movie.
Mom believed in being prepared.
As a teenager, like mine today, I would head to the door in a hurry to leave only to be stopped by my Mom’s warnings to buckle up, have plenty of gas, drive safely, lock my doors, etc. And, like my teenagers today I would roll my eyes at the familiar speech. But that was my Mom always ready and trying to prepare me as well.
Similarly, Mom began Christmas shopping in January and would proudly announce being finished sometime in late summer. She had the presents all wrapped of course too! In December we smiled as we opened slightly ragged gifts with flattened bows that had been stored away in tight spaces. There was the occasional Easter when a forgotten or well-hidden Christmas gift was found unexpectantly and appeared in our Easter Baskets instead!
I remember when a much discussed and anticipated Y2K really got my Mom in an uproar. She saved milk jugs and filled them with water and lined the storage shed with provisions so she would be ready for the weeks of survival that might accompany said Apocalypse. The funniest part of this memory is she decided if all life as we know it were ending it would not matter if her house was dirty, so she stopped cleaning as the impending time approached, and vowed not to clean again until the threat had passed.
She loved planning for Holiday parties and special events as well. I can see her cook books in a pile on the floor of the den as she made her menu weeks in advance. Mom was a great cook and she loved to make big meals for family gatherings. My cousins Brenda, Linda and Gina would rave over her fried corn on Easter lunch. Nothing made her happier than to prepare a good meal and have all the family come to enjoy it.
Mom also loved to travel. The most fun though was the preparation. Her trips she would plan by researching her destination and then writing and typing the information later cataloged in a photo album like a copy of National Geographic. It was impressive.
One of the greatest joys of her life was her Journal writing. In them she recorded weekly and sometimes daily the seemingly ordinary events of our lives. By doing so she gave herself the gift of many precious memories otherwise lost in the folds of time. In her last years she would revisit them like old friends to help with her fading memory being depleted by the cruelties of dementia. She wrote these memories down for herself and all of us as well because she knew one day they would be precious to her children and grandchildren as a record of our family.
But more than the sweet, funny memories of my Mom and her ever-ready habits, Mom lived everyday making the most of her words and time. She began everyday in bible study and prayer. She looked after everyone that needed her attention. She always ended a phone conversation with “I love you”. She always let us all know how proud and thankful we made her. She wrote letters to loved ones to make sure important things were said and not forgotten. She told us that she prayed for us every day and she did.
A few weeks ago she had the chance to spend a day with my daughters, she spent the day playing games, telling stories of her childhood, laughing, and telling them how important it is that they marry a Christian man and raise a Christian family. She didn’t know it would be the last day they would have to spend this way but she made the best use of the day because it was a day she would never get back like every day that we live. That was my Mom. 
If July 18, 2012 caught her family and friends a bit ill-prepared and not ready to say good-bye, Janice Theola Simpson Shockney and been preparing her whole life for this day. She was ready that night as she lay down to sleep to wake up as she wrote me in a parting letter, “I am not afraid to die”, “I have lived a good life”, “God has guided me in his counsel and now he is receiving me in His glory.” She had been preparing every day for the day she would wake up in Glory.
She was ready for July 18, 2012. 
I am so proud that she was my Mother. We will miss her loving presence from our lives. She was our greatest cheerleader and advocate before God’s throne. We love you Mom, Your daughter.
June 18, 2012

#warroom #justwrite #missingmom

Gaining Fresh Perspective from a Ranting Twenty-Something

Don’t you love it when one of your offspring calls to chat about life? I know how busy they are with school and work, so when they take time to poke my picture on one of their iPhones to check in and share the activities of the day, I just get happy! On this particular day, as I rushed from work to my grayer-than-I care-to-ever-know monthly hair appointment, I see the face of my oldest cherub and although harried, it pleases me to spend a few moments while in transit to catch up with my girl. But her tone let me know quickly, like Santa’s visit in The Night Before Christmas, this call had a purpose.
My mind skipped from hassle to crisis like a stone across the lake… It’s too early in the semester to have failed a class…Is she out of cash? Did she have a wreck? Is her car broken down on the side of the road? Another ticket? How fast were you going? Wrong, wrong…none of those…whew!
“What can I help you with?” “I need to order checks!” she rants.  “Okay,” says I obviously not grasping the gravity of the situation, “Order some.” “I have been trying to for an hour and I can’t get it to work! What address did you give the bank for my account?! Whatever it is, I don’t know it because I have tried everything, and I can’t order checks without knowing my zip code!” declares my precious.
Well, this is not quite the “Hi, Mom, how are you? I am fine and I appreciate the free education,” kind of call I was expecting. I was slowly becoming aware that the purpose of the call was not for my banking expertise. None of my suggestions were welcome. “Do you need me to drive five hours from Nashville to Auburn to help you with this?” I finally offered, becoming agitated. “No thank you, I can handle it and bye,” were the final words to our friendly chat. Wow! So glad I could help! And, what did I do to deserve that? I declared to the sky as I drove on to my hair therapy.
On the way home, I thought about the call with my kid. She was my kid, for sure. She had items on her to do list and felt frustrated with the lack of progress. She should have been halfway down the list, not still stuck on top of the list. She needed to vent; I was safe. I get that. I do the same thing.
I have a mental to-do-prayer-list that I occasionally wave to my Father in frustration. “Why is this one so hard?” “Why is this one not working?” I rant to God in prayer. He smiles and says, “It’s good to hear from you. I was just thinking about you!” I let him know I have a specific purpose for our talk and I don’t have time just to chat. He listens patiently, unlike me the parent. He doesn't respond in agitation. I deserve it, but I do not make him mad. He is safe place for my ragged to-do-lists. He gets my frustration, because he knows me. I am his.
To be a Mom and to be a child. Such perspective.