I AM TITANIUM.

Sigh.

If only.

A little while ago...perhaps a month ago...

The girls and I were driving back from somewhere South, maybe IKEA.  (You all know how much we love IKEA.)  It was a sunny Sunday afternoon and we were flipping through radio stations, when the song Titanium came on.  Youtube it if you are unfamiliar with it and wish to listen.  If you've heard it, you know it has catchy beats and a repetitive, soaring chorus line:

"You shoot me down, but I won't fall...
I AM TITANIUM!"

The girls were singing this song very dramatically...imagine that.  When it got to the chorus, they sang at the top of their lungs, shouting almost, with fists in the air.  (You are all picturing Onnie doing this right now, if you know her, right? )  It was loud, hilarious, and full of you best not try to mess with me...

Cause I AM TITANIUM.  

I had a very poignant moment, almost exactly one week ago today, remembering that memory...the sunshine joy laughter...invincibility...of us Lumsden girls.

All that beautiful strength being recalled

right as our family's hearts were getting gutted.   

Sigh.

I will not share details, as they are private.  But the past seven days have probably been the worst of my entire life...and that's quite a horrid achievement.

During those 5,040 minutes, lots of pithy sayings came to my mind...well, song lyrics, anyway:

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
Only the strong survive.
Strength doesn't lie in numbers, strength doesn't lie in wealth...
(5 million points to the person who recognizes that last one without looking it up...)

And...

I AM TITANIUM.

So much cultural encouragement to be strong invincible bulletproof unassailable untouchable... 

I listened to those voices of cultural sway.  After all, my name actually means strength.  I honestly tried.  But in the end, I realized

I think it's all a bunch of crap.  

I do not posses the strength inside of me

just because I exist

to handle life-shattering events all on my own.  It is only arrogance and posturing which would make me even try in the first place.  

Truth...we need others.  We need listening ears, hugs, prayers, words of comfort and strength...someone to just be when life is tragic beyond words.  Sometimes we need space, too.

And

We need to mourn.

Donny Pauling shared this important truth with me years ago, and reminded me of it again last week.  Mourn, cry...feel what you are feeling.  Don't stuff your feelings or ignore them.  Feel them.

I know the last point seems very common sense, right?  But how many of us actually think it is okay to feel ugly scary bewildering crushing feelings?   For more than twelve seconds, anyway?

I think we all try to be strong, appear strong, believing it is the best and right thing to do.  But it is all backwards and doesn't accomplish what we hope.  Do we gather strength in the acting out of appearing to be so?  I don't think we do. 

I believe we also need strength from the One who holds time and space in His very capable hands... the Creator of the heavens. He gives comfort to our hearts beyond our understanding or fathoming.  Joy for mourning.

After the mourning.  Yes? 

Yes.

I learned a lot this past week.  Some lessons and truths I honestly didn't want to learn...deep things I am still processing through...things that must change in the future.  

Above all,

 I learned I am not

titanium.

I am okay with that.  More than okay, actually...

Instead, I will be real and pliable with grief, honesty, and clarity.  I will not be steel gray, but colored beautiful with brilliant hope.

Yes, please.

Peace. 

*My deepest THANK YOU to all of you who have been my strength and help this past week...you all know who you are.  You have my humble gratitude and love.  



  

2013. The year of the Wait.

I usually write a New Years' type blog post.  I haven't written much in past few months...been very busy with work, family, health issues and just living.  Good busyness.  But my soul still yearns to express itself to you through the written word.  So, a few days late, but here's my thoughts on 2013...

It's gonna be a year of preparation for...

I honestly have no idea what for.  But I know it is. 

I've got work to do this year.  I've become undisciplined in some areas of my life.  Lazy in my thinking, words and doing.  No one likes admitting failures and weaknesses, but I've got some.  I feel compelled to work on those this year. 

Something is coming in 2014...for me...for Ron...for our family.  I feel deep within my soul 2013 is the year to prepare for it.  I feel there are several areas to focus on, but I won't bore you with them now.  

However, preparation isn't always active.  It also means being still and silent.  Listening.  To your soul.  To those deep and quiet things inside of you...put there for a reason and a purpose.

For your purpose. 

Listening to God, the Creator and Lover of your Soul.

I am preparing.  But more importantly

I am waiting. 

This song sums it up well. It is my Song of 2013.  I hope you aren't sick of all my Mumford song postings, but I love these guys...their writing, playing.  Their passion.  This song speaks to me.  Red Rocks...about 4 months ago...

Peace.  

 

Bread thoughts.

Is everyone recovering from the Halloween festivities of last night?  I seem to greet each November first with relief and a sharp intake of air, thankful it is clean and new.  We are now fast approaching mine and Onnie's favorite holiday of the year- Thanksgiving.

But first

A few thoughts I had yesterday as I was making baking bread.

Many of you know I have been baking our bread for a while now.  In Ron's and my mission to rid our home of GMOs, processed foods, and toxic chemicals, making sandwich bread at home seemed an economical and easy place to start.  Some of my friends graciously shared recipes and tips with me as I began this process, and I am so very grateful for the support and practical resources.

I am proud to say we have not purchased a loaf of bread from a store in over two months. (Well, except for that one round of sourdough to go with homemade corn chowder, as we celebrated my job...special occasion.)

But I have a confession to make here...it's probably gonna make moot all those domestically blithe facebook posts I like to put up about my newly acquired bread making skills...

I don't really enjoy making bread.

There it is.  Shame, folks.  Shame.

Wait, let me explain.

I make bread the old-fashioned way...by measuring, mixing and kneading by hand, forming loaves, and baking in the oven.  I do not own a food processor, bread machine, or one of those lovely KitchenAid stand mixers.  Sure, I could be more old fashioned with this bread process...sprouting and milling grains, culturing yeast and baking over a fire.  I actually hope to acquire those skills one day.  It could be a lot tougher than it currently is.

But it's still a lot of time and effort.

Honest- I psyche myself up each week before I begin..."Look what I'm doing, I'm making homemade bread for my family!  It's gonna be peaceful and cozy, and the smells filling our home are going to be heavenly!"  The inner pep talk works enough to get me to pull out bowls and measuring cups.  By the way, it takes almost every bowl in our home to make bread each week, as I make four loaves at a time. More on that in a minute.

So I make it into the kitchen and pull out the supplies.

I always attempt to have adequate time set aside for the making and baking.  However, I  underestimate how long this process actually takes.  I know how long it should take, around three hours.  It usually takes four.   

I measure and mix, fretting over minor details, like how the active yeast never bubbles the way the recipe describes.  And the fact I never add the amount of flour called for, as the dough is already too dry with the starting amount.  Weekly, I wonder if my bread is actually going to turn out like...well, bread...or if it's gonna be an inedible mess.  Fret worry.

I let the dough rest after mixing.  Experts say bread turns out much better if given time to rest along the way.  Hmm.

Then...the dreaded kneading.  Ooaf.  My arms are tired just thinking about it.

I make four loaves of bread each week, divided into two batches of dough requiring kneading for 10-12 minutes each.  So I knead for a minimum of twenty minutes.

The first two minutes are tough.  Then I settle into a routine and my arms still feel strong.  However, the last minute of the first batch is murder.  Knowing I have to do it all over again for the second batch of dough is mentally exhausting.

But then a strange thing happens.

The second batch isn't painful...it's kind of peaceful.  Sure, my arms are tired.  But I've resigned myself to the job by this point, and the rhythm of "push out with palms, turn and fold, and push out with palms again" is soothing.  Purposeful.  I begin smiling again.

Spray the bowls for rising- never metal for rising, although I still have no idea why- plop the round dough balls in, and let science happen.  I get a break for an hour.

Doubled-in-size dough in bowls gets punched down, kneaded twice, flattened into a rectangle, and folded folded folded into acceptable sandwich loaves.  Well, I try.  My loaves always turn out strange shaped at this point.  Good thing they rise again for a half hour in the loaf pans before being pushed into the oven.

Spray pans, dump in weird-shaped loaves...preheat oven...

And the rest is cake.  Bread.  You know what I mean.

Every week my bread turns out well.  It does now, anyway.  The first few weeks of experimenting were not as successful.  But my girls adore it, and Onnie proclaims loudly and often that my bread is so much better than store-bought.  I am pretty sure Ron likes it too.

Yes, there is a broader point to all this bread making baking complaining 101.  I love analogies, don't you?

I had the thought yesterday that the bread making process is much like many other processes in life...the tall mountains we face which require climbing.

We dread, but psyche ourselves up...we can do this!  The end result is gonna be incredible!

We show up, gather our supplies, and begin to work.  This isn't so bad.

But still, we fret.  Are we doing this correctly?  What if we are spending all this time and effort and our results are worthless in the end?  Still, we plod on.

We rest.  Experts say we will be more successful in the end if we rest along the way. Hmm.

Then we hit the dreadful middle.  We begin to lose strength...we are tired.  There is so much more to go...how will we ever do this? 

Something strange occurs.  Just when we feel we can't move another step, peace begins to settle into our hearts.  Sure, we are still tired.  But our purpose comes back and there is joy again in the hard work.

There is joy in hard work, yes?

We let the processes of our hard work...work.  We get a short break to attend to other things.

A little more attention to our climb...finishing out the processes...and then we wait to see what our hard work and persistence have created.

Hint:  they always create something beautiful and worthwhile.  It's the process which sharpens and shapes us, not the end result.

There is victory beauty and great accomplishment.  For a moment.  It doesn't last.

We must begin anew. And again and over. This is life.

Speaking of mountains to climb... 

Beginning today, I am tackling one of the toughest processes in writing to date-  I am taking part in NaNoWriMo...National Novel Writing Month.  The goal is to write 50,000 words, in novel form, during the month of November.  I am a strange mix of excited scared full of dread.  I'm not even prepared with a plot or outline.  But I'm doing it anyway.

I feel called.  By God and by my purpose as a writer.

I'm not gonna cheat the process anymore, nor the beauty that the hard work accomplishes in me.

Tackle something impossible today...begin the process.  This is life.

This was a long one, thanks for hanging in there.

Peace. 

   

Mourning Jessica.

Here in Colorado we are heart-broken and in shock. 

Yet again. 

What a year this has been for the people of this beautiful and rugged place we call home. 

We, as a state, have been holding our breath since last Friday night, when the Amber Alert was first issued for lost little Jessica Ridgeway.  We prayed and searched all week, while holding our children closer.  Cried.  Pleaded with God and rescue teams for answers...along with the rest of the country, as the news and search went national.  Tried to hold on to hope. 

Jessica became our entire country's lost little girl this week. 

And at 4pm Mountain Standard Time, we got the answer. 

Now we are left trying to process this senselessness, horrific act...the same as we were on July 21st.

Tonight we mourn.

Onnie, our our fourteen year old daughter, made this video on Wednesday night.  I believe it is a beautiful tribute which fits even more now.

Praying, dear readers.

(Please excuse the sideways-ness of the video...if you view it from a smartphone, the image should adjust for you.)

  

Loving...out loud.

This verse has been on my heart all morning, and I just posted it on facebook:

^"Anyone who sets himself up as "religious" by talking a good game is self-deceived. This kind of religion is hot air and only hot air. Real religion, the kind that passes muster before God the Father, is this: Reach out to the homeless and loveless in their plight, and guard against corruption from the godless world."  James 1:26-27  (The Message)

Must be honest here- I've read the Bible from cover to cover several times...well, except for maybe Revelations, that book just confuses me to no end, even with a stack of commentaries sitting next to me for comfort.  So I know I've read the above verse a few times.  But sadly...or hypocritically, you choose...I would skim it, thinking I was doing my part because we've sponsored a child through World Vision, or given to food banks occasionally.  I knew those piddly acts didn't really add up to the intentional effort specified in James.  But we were doing something so I let myself off the hook. 

Until the Ramsdells became our daughters' pastors and I saw they lived this verse out with their entire lives. 

Heart effort. 

I could talk endlessly about the Ramsdells and the impact they've made on our little family.  I won't do that right now.  But I will happily introduce you to them sometime if you don't already know them, and let them tell you about their passion for the homeless and the loveless, especially orphans. 

Billy used to teach on this verse a lot and he showed our daughters how they can make an impact on the homeless and loveless right now, with their small resources multiplied by heart effort.   

I believe we must teach our children to live a better life story.

What do I mean by that?

Society teaches our children today to live for themselves for the most part, yes?  Get the stuff and you will be happy...fulfilled and have a super awesome life!  Yeah!

Yeah.

How's that working out for us here in America?  

The Bible teaches a different way...a better way. 

To gain your life, you must lose it.  

When we give ourselves...our time, resources, effort, talents and abilities...to the most worthy causes...pouring out hope to the hopeless and love to those who only know pain, fear and unlove...

paradoxically

We are fulfilled.  We write a better life story with our lives, yes?

And how do we teach our children to do the same with their lives?  By modeling giving of ourselves for them to see, of course.  Because we all know children won't always do what we say, but they will do what we do.  This can be a cause for shuttering or for thankfulness, and we, as parents, hold the process in our hands.  

So I finally joined a local LOVE146 task force this morning.  Yes, I waited much too long.  Scold me for that, I deserve it.  For those unfamiliar with this organization, they are a Christ-centered organization committed to the abolishing child trafficking and exploitation.  This cause has burned on my heart since I first heard about it over a year ago. 

The monthly meeting for September is on my birthday.  I could skip it.  But I'm not. I must start giving myself somewhere, sometime. 

I pray my girls find their causes through the Lord's direction and leading, and pour out love in their own unique ways to change lives.  I pray the same for you today too.  

Give yourself.  Love out loud.  Be fulfilled.  

Peace.  

 

Forgiveness.

I was going to write this post on Sunday.  Glad I waited.  The slight conviction I was feeling then has metastasized into full-blown angst.  Not always a bad thing.

Especially not in this case.

I've hit this subject of forgiveness hard during the past six months.  First was the realization I had stuffed years of pain down deep, until it all burst out my insides back in March.  Sadly, I imagined those bodies floating in the streets of New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina...dead bodies swelling in the water and heat...swelling until sometimes they burst.  Death won't stay neatly inside, it will eventually spill out its blackness and disease, yes?

Honest- I didn't have a clue how to forgive, heal, move forward...move at all.  Worse was the barreling down epiphany, right on pain's heels, of my own actions, words, thoughts, and behaviors in response to years of unreleased pain.

We sometimes do awful things when we are hurting, don't we?

Plus, there was a social situation our family encountered at the beginning of this year which needed me to extend forgiveness into also.  Thought I had moved on from it months ago, but a conversation with a dear friend over coffee and a brownie had me spewing anger and ugly, black unforgiveness.  Oh, how I needed God's grace intervention there.

And...just because I personally think God likes to bring about freedom, healing and restoration simultaneously in several areas once we are willing to allow His hand into our messes....

I was reminded on Monday of probably my toughest extension of forgiveness in my entire life.

Boom.

You see, I had reached levels of forgiveness in my heart in all of these situations, some deeper than others.  Sometimes we feel healed and whole until memories are brought forth, then we feel the pain and shame all over again.

Does this mean I hadn't forgiven?

I believe I had.  But I'd forgiven like this:

“Forgiveness means it finally becomes unimportant that you hit back. You're done. It doesn't necessarily mean that you want to have lunch with the person. If you keep hitting back, you stay trapped in the nightmare...”  
-Anne Lamont, Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith.

Sure, I'd stopped fighting back.  Well, except for the angry spewing over brownies.  But the blackness was still in my heart, in varying amounts per circumstance and person, poisoning my insides. 

I had not forgiven like this:

"As far as the East is from the West, so far has He removed our transgressions from us."
-Psalms 103:12

You are thinking right now, "That's God talking...that's not for me to do."

But Jesus did it for us.

When others hurt us, they are transgressing against us, yes?  Overstepping our personal boundaries, violating us in some way...in tiny annoyances or with gigantic, life will never be the same, offenses.  

Guest speaker pastor on Sunday...forgive me for not recalling his name...reminded us of the parable Jesus told in Matthew, and how it relates to our forgiveness of others:

A Story About Forgiveness

 At that point Peter got up the nerve to ask, "Master, how many times do I forgive a brother or sister who hurts me? Seven?" 

 Jesus replied, "Seven! Hardly. Try seventy times seven.

 "The kingdom of God is like a king who decided to square accounts with his servants. As he got under way, one servant was brought before him who had run up a debt of a hundred thousand dollars. He couldn't pay up, so the king ordered the man, along with his wife, children, and goods, to be auctioned off at the slave market.

"The poor wretch threw himself at the king's feet and begged, 'Give me a chance and I'll pay it all back.' Touched by his plea, the king let him off, erasing the debt.

"The servant was no sooner out of the room when he came upon one of his fellow servants who owed him ten dollars. He seized him by the throat and demanded, 'Pay up. Now!'

"The poor wretch threw himself down and begged, 'Give me a chance and I'll pay it all back.' But he wouldn't do it. He had him arrested and put in jail until the debt was paid. When the other servants saw this going on, they were outraged and brought a detailed report to the king.

"The king summoned the man and said, 'You evil servant! I forgave your entire debt when you begged me for mercy. Shouldn't you be compelled to be merciful to your fellow servant who asked for mercy?' The king was furious and put the screws to the man until he paid back his entire debt."
-Matthew 18:21-35

Ouch.

I know I've been trying to hold others accountable for their ten dollar sin debts to me, in my heart, when Jesus has forgiven my life debt of sin that I can never repay or make right.

Does this mean I forget what they've done to me?  I'm honestly not sure it's humanly possible.  And some transgressions do indeed require cutting someone out of our life, for our own safety or well-being, or that of our loved ones.  So, no, I don't think we ever forget.

But we can forgive.  Release our transgressors from their sin debts owed us.  Gain the perspective of heaven, realizing we are all worthy of death for our sins...our sins against each other and against God.

Sure, it's a process.  I hope it doesn't sound like I am dismissing great and horrible pain perpetrated against you by others.  I am not.  But when we let go...when we choose to forgive and leave the pain and shame in God's very capable hands

We heal.  Can breathe again.  Regain hope and a future.

 I hope you are able to take a step toward forgiving today...I am walking there with you. 
Peace. 

*As I was searching for a picture for this blog, I found the above.  I'm not sure there's a more powerful modern day example of unmerited forgiveness than the response of the Amish community in the aftermath of the school shooting in 2006. Our country demanded hate and retribution, but the Amish poured out love in a way which mystified and challenged us all. 

In which

In which I am thankful my daughter says the thing she does best is worship God.  Not an arrogant boast, but a humble acknowledgment:

 "This is what I was made to do.  To worship."

And so very thankful she has found a group of friends that live this truth, and a church which will let the Youth take over a Sunday morning service so the kids can remind us adults it's all about giving our hearts. 

Peace.