Confessions of a Former Parade Hater

I must confess...for many years, I HATED parades. Whose idea were these stupid acts of torture? Having been forced to participate in more than my fair share of parades as a part of a dance group, cheerleader squad, church youth group, and later on, a volunteer at a nursing home, I was burned out on the whole idea. I haven't watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in over a decade as a personal venue of protest! Maybe it was the cold (dance tights and tap shoes are NOT proper walking attire for anyone, in any season!) Maybe it was the hordes of kids, screaming from the sidewalks, wanting me to throw candy to them. Maybe it was the lights and sirens that the police AND the fire trucks insisted on blaring every year. Maybe it was those wretched clowns who were always in attendance and, as luck would have it, usually lined up near me! I'm not sure why I hated parades, but I did. There, I've admitted it, that's the first step in healing, right? Now what's step two again? Oh, it doesn't matter anyway, I was going to get a crash course in Parade Haters Anonymous today, whether I liked it or not.

My best friend's niece, Marley, was in the Easley Christmas parade today. I've been a part of that child's life since before she entered the world so; I wasn't about to miss this, even if it meant giving up my coveted day of sleeping in. Do you know how hard it is to drag yourself from a toasty warm bed, on a Saturday, on the coldest day of the year so far, with the sole purpose of then standing outside in said cold to watch people walk past you? I mean really, whose idea was this again?

Confession #2...in case you don't live in or around Easley, you don't know this...on Tuesday of this week, a tornado picked Main Street of Easley, SC, to ravage. It blew out windows in businesses and ripped up quite a few lampposts. It even twisted a church steeple sideways! Thankfully, no one was hurt. I mentioned this because the parade route goes up Pendleton Street and turns onto Main Street. For a while, there was talk of having to cancel this year's parade. My confession? I was hoping they would have to cancel. I know it's a horrible thing to wish but no such luck. The show, or rather, the parade, must go on. But I digress.

So there we were, lined up along Pendleton Street with the cold nipping at our fannies and noses, waiting for the parade to begin. Then, it happened. From over the hill, you could hear the sirens and soon, see the lights. Yep, it was the beginning of the parade. For a moment, all the past parades haunted my thoughts. Then, as they neared, something strange started to happen. I'm not sure if it was the excitement of the children, hoping to catch a piece of candy or if it was how the parade line would have long gaps in it because the driver of a float had stopped to talk to a friend he or she saw on the sidewalk and how proud that made me to be part of a small town, but something very strange began to happen to me. At first, I thought maybe it was the hot cocoa I'd been drinking but no, that wasn't it. Then, it had to be the fact that the sun began to peek out, warming us up, just a little. No, that couldn't be it either. Then, I realized what was happening. To quote one of my favorite Christmas cartoon specials, my "heart grew three sizes that day!" I realized that everything I had dreaded about the parade was now everything that made it special. In this high-tech, fast-paced, no-longer-know-our-neighbors world in which we live, here we were, stepping back to a much simpler time. We were standing, side-by-side, with all races, all ages, all religions, all walks of life and we were all happy. We were laughing about the cold as our teeth chattered. We commented on how nicely the floats had turned out. We exchanged compliments on how pretty or handsome our sidewalk neighbors' children were. We laughed and pointed, smiling, waving and calling out their names when we saw people we knew who were in the parade. We were, for one short hour, indivisible, and it felt wonderful!

By the time Marley's float neared us, I remembered why we watch and participate in these "stupid acts of torture", as I had called them earlier. I knew why even a tornado couldn't stop a Christmas parade. It's the power of the magic that is childhood. Childhood is that sacred period in a person's life when everything is bigger, better, more special, more beautiful and more real than any other time in life. Hope is our ever-present companion. It is when we wake up happy to open our eyes and we go to bed, sad that the day is over. When's the last time you did either of those things? That's what I thought. Childhood is when we used to get butterflies in our tummies instead of ulcers. We fought as Cowboys and Indians instead of Christians and Muslims. We laughed just to hear ourselves laugh. It is when we pledged allegiance to the flag, proudly, and daily in our schools. It is when we bowed our heads to pray over our food instead of hiding it and asking God to bless our food silently, if we remember. It is when we chose our friends based on enjoying their company and not on how they could improve our social standing. Childhood is when things are simple. Childhood is when parades are magical and fun. Childhood is when a parade can make us smile. Today, I revisited my childhood and I smiled.

 

September 11, 2001, remembered

Where were you on September 11, 2001? I know you remember. Who could ever forget? I woke up early that morning in horrible pain. I couldn't swallow and my throat felt like it was on fire. My fever was close to 102 degrees. I called my friend, Cyndi. She was the nurse at my doctor's office. She told me to be at the office as soon as I could and they would work me into the schedule. I called in sick to work and headed to the doctor's office where I waited. I was ushered back to a room and poked and prodded for blood tests and throat cultures. I laid down on the bed in the room to wait for the results. I knew I must be sick. Who actually lays down on those beds? I'll never forget the person who told me about the first tower or the look on his face. My doctor walked back into the room, probably as pale as I was, and just looked at me. For a split second, as bad as I felt and from the expression on his face, I thought he was going to tell me that I was dying. Finally, he announced, "You have Strep throat and a plane just flew into the World Trade Center!" I'm sure it was a combination of the fever and the totally unbelievable announcement, but I thought I was hallucinating. I stared at him until he finally broke the silence, "Did you hear me?" I could only squeak out one word, "What?" "An airplane just crashed into one of the towers of the World Trade Center in New York City. They think it may have been on purpose! Follow me!" The next few minutes were as surreal as any that I had ever experienced or have experienced since then. I followed him into the staff lounge of the office where doctors, nurses, patients and other office staff were all huddled around a tiny television, silent and gawking. We all stood, mesmerized and shocked, watching the footage play over and over again.

The next few hours are a blur, partly because of the shock from the view on TV and partly because of the pain medication I was prescribed. The fog of the fever didn't help to make anything any clearer either. I remember my first call as I left the doctor's office. I called my mother. I wanted to know that she was okay. It's strange, I know. We live in South Carolina and I just needed to hear her voice to make sure she was okay because terrorists had attacked in New York. I believe that feeling spread like a virus throughout the country. It didn't matter where our loved ones were, we just wanted to hear their voices. We wanted solid proof of their safety. There was one unified emotion that all Americas felt, no matter where we were; fear. Not since Pearl Harbor had there been an attack on American soil. What was the world coming to? For some, the thought that the world was ending rushed to the forethought of our minds.

Strangely, in those next days and then weeks, a reaction occurred that the terrorist group had not expected. They had intended to divide and then conquer us. The opposite happened. Americas put aside race, religion, and region. We become "one nation, under God" for the first time in a very long time. When a survivor was found and rescued from the rubble, we all rejoiced. When a body was pulled from the mangled mess that once was a strong tower, we all wept. There was no "red and yellow, black and white" as the song from our childhood says. We were all "precious in His sight". Amazingly, family differences didn't seem to matter as much anymore. Once petty arguments faded and were replaced with feelings of familiarity and forgiveness that hadn't seemed possible as late as September 10th. People joined hands and hearts in prayer. Churches filled to overflowing in a return to God as an attempt to find some sense or meaning in the aftermath. I don't feel that I'm exaggerating to say that all of America held its breath as we waited to see what would happen next. Would another attack come?

What did happen was amazing. People took vacation days from work to volunteer at Ground Zero, hoping to make a difference. Wallets that were once squeezed tight were stretched to make donations for basic human needs for those directly affected by the attacks. People who had never considered themselves animal lovers were sending their hard earned money to be used to purchase booties for the rescue dogs' feet so that they wouldn't burn their paws as they searched and sniffed for human remains in an attempt to bring some form of closure to the victims' families. Political differences were set aside. We banded together as one in an effort to be one nation in our reaction for this offense. America flags were once again proudly displayed on houses and flew mightily against blue skies. We put aside religious differences and joined together as one voice in prayers for strength for the heroic rescue personnel and comfort for the family members who waited, holding their breath, for some word, hoping that it would be good news.

Since that day, we have cleared the rubble, buried the dead, mourned the lost, and moved on. We have recovered. We are scarred from the experience, but not destroyed. We are wounded but not defeated. We are sad but not slain. So on this anniversary, we remember and shed tears but we will never, ever forget!

And By His Stripes We Are Healed…

As I finished writing my name on the sign in sheet at my doctor’s office, I turned to make that all-important decision. I had to make a split second decision before anyone noticed me hesitating. Who looked the least contagious in the sea of germs that is a doctor’s waiting room? I scanned the room. I was definitely not going to take the chair beside the mother with two runny nosed kids. No offense but basic math said I had twice the chance of catching something over there. Okay, should I sit near the man with the hacking cough? Nah, for two reasons, one, I didn’t come in with a cough and two, he sounded like he was on a mission to cough up at least one of his lungs. I was not really feeling strong enough to see that! Well, that left one possible position. There was a sole woman sitting, quietly crocheting. She wasn’t coughing. She had no visible symptoms of illness. Maybe, like me, she was here just for blood work. Maybe she was having a well check. Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t catch the dreaded H1N1 from sitting near her. I had almost run out of time to make my decision so I opted for the chair near her. She looked to be in her 70s. Your typical grandmotherly type, her glasses were perched precariously on the end of her nose but with no fear of losing them. Around her neck, she wore a beaded eyeglasses holder necklace. Her hands belied her age as they worked with the yarn in her hands. I slipped into the chair next to hers, hoping not to gain her attention. I had a book with me that I intended to get lost in as I waited for my turn. She glanced up, smiled and dropped her crocheting. As she reached up and removed her glasses from their position, I quickly realized that she intended to prevent my reading by having a conversation with me. Stubbornly, I opened my book, hoping that it would dissuade her.
“Is that a good book?” She asked me. Here was my chance.
“I don’t know yet but I’m dying to get started with it.” There, surely that would not encourage further conversation. I was wrong,
“I love to read and I’m always looking for new books to try. I’m a widow so I have plenty of time on my hands.” Well, there it was. I felt an unmistakable pang of guilt for having not wanted to talk with her. I closed the book and turned in my chair toward her.
“My mother tried to teach me to crochet when I was younger but I never could get the hang of it.” Her face lit up as she realized that I was going to engage her in a conversation.
“This will be the sixteenth scarf I’ve made this winter,” she announced proudly.
“Wow,” I answered. “Are you making them to sell?” I figured with that many under her belt; she had to have an outlet for them. No one would make that many scarves just for themselves.
“No, I make them to give away.” She answered. “Mostly to all of the people who take care of me, mostly my sweet nurses. I have four more to finish.” Intrigued by the large number of nurses that she mentioned, I asked,
“Are there that many nurses employed here?”
“Oh not just here, honey. I also go to the cancer center for my chemo.” Ouch, the pang was back.
“So you have cancer?”
“I did,” she announced proudly. “But I’m in remission now.”
“Thank God.” I offered.
“Yes, thank God, but He was the One who gave it to me too.” I could feel myself tense up and bristle. I felt a blame game starting and I wasn’t in the mood to argue with a senior citizen. I detest how people, all of us, blame God for everything and thank Him for very little, if at all. I set my mind for it and asked,
“Excuse me, what?” She smiled as if I had fallen into some invisible trap that she had set for me.
“God gave me cancer.” She repeated her unusual proclamation. The look on my face must have let her know that I was not amused with her ranting so she continued before I could speak again.
“Do you know Jesus Christ as your personal Savior?” She asked. What? How had she made that turn?
“Absolutely,” I answered still unsure as to where she was taking this conversation.
“Wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I thank God for that and for giving me the courage to ask you that.” I didn’t know what to say. I was still curious as to her earlier statement about God giving her cancer. Again, she took my silence as an opening to continue our conversation.
“You see, I’m in my 70s (I had guessed correctly) and I’m retired so I don’t run into a lot of people. I’ve always been a little too shy for my own good too.”
“She thinks she’s shy?” I wondered but didn’t interrupt her.
“I prayed and asked God to give me the courage and the opportunity to witness for Him. I’m ashamed to say that I never used to witness like we Christians are supposed to so when I found out that I had breast cancer, I was terrified and prayed for God to heal me. It was then that I realized that He had given me a mission ground. Now, I get to witness to every doctor, nurse and other chemo patients that I run into on this journey.” My silence this time was disbelief. She smiled even bigger and added, “I’ve prayed with two of my nurses for them to receive Christ as their Savior and several others have shared prayer requests with me. I pray with them and have their requests written in my Bible so that I can continue to pray for them later. God gave me cancer to give me courage and the opportunity to further His Kingdom. He isn’t through with me yet. As long as He leaves me here, I’m not going to waste anymore time, ever.” Again, I was stunned into silence. Ouch, another pang hit me. This pang was one of shame, not guilt. Would I have to be struck with cancer before I had the courage to witness? Emotions and questions raced through me head. I offered a prayer asking God to forgive me for my selfish, lazy attitude in witnessing for Him. All of these things were tumbling over in my mind, consuming my thoughts when a nurse appeared in the waiting room and called my friend back for her appointment. We exchanged goodbyes and smiles and then I was left in the waiting room with my thoughts and an empty chair beside me. Before long, my attention focused on the woman at the front desk, scanning the room as I had done earlier. As she neared the chair that my friend had just vacated, I took a deep breath, straightened in my seat and smiled at her, readying myself for the conversation I was about to initiate. I wasn’t going to wait for a bout with cancer to have the courage to proclaim my witness for Jesus Christ.

Greater Love

Aww, Valentine’s Day. That special day of the year when our hearts and minds turn toward chubby angels in diapers with heart shaped arrows, cards with beautiful prose to proclaim our love, heart shaped boxes filled with chocolates, dinners out on the town and gifts, preferably those that come in small, black felt boxes. Granted, there are the skeptics and jaded among us who proclaim that this day was made up by the greeting card industry, just to increase sales. Of course, the stories of the origins of Valentine’s Day are as numerous as the people who were ahead of you in line for dinner on Sunday night. They seem endless. I wouldn’t attempt to declare which of them is the truth, but they do make for an interesting read. Regardless of the actual origins, today, it is what it is. It is the day that we have set aside to declare or re-declare our love for that special someone. Hopefully, you were able to be with the one you love to make this day special for both of you.
As happens, approximately every seven years, give or take a year because of Leap Year, Valentine’s Day was on Sunday. Inevitably, many preachers spoke on love as the topic for their messages this past Sunday. There are countless types of love, the love of a man and woman, the love of a parent and child, the love of lifelong friends, and the love of a Father to His children, just to name a few. John 3:16 tells us that “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” That, of course, is the ultimate love. God loving us enough to make a way for us to be redeemed from our sin so that we may spend eternity with Him. Nothing can compare to that love, ever. There’s another type of love that we need today, however, one that seems to be becoming extinct. One that is a commandment for us yet we seem to think of it as a suggestion, if we feel like or have time to do it, we might.
John 15:13 states “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” I’ve always thought that this verse meant that I literally had to physically die to show love for my friends. As you can guess, I’m a very literal person. I was reading this one day when it finally dawned on me. We are, by our very nature, selfish, self-centered beings. We tend to “look out for number one”. Laying down ones’ life can be as simple as cutting your neighbor’s grass without expectation of a payback. Laying down your life, and mine, means that we put someone else’s needs above our own. Believe me, it sounds much easier than it actually is. Sure, cutting grass is easy enough to think of, but how often do we actually choose to do that? How about letting the mother with two very tired, cranky kids in front of you in line at the grocery store instead of thinking to yourself, “I was here first, let her wait”? Laying down ones’ life can mean the supreme sacrifice. There are those among us who will die for the cause of Christ. They will be martyrs for the cause but we can all learn to live with that mindset. Oprah coined the phrase, “little acts of kindness” to describe this attitude. The movie, Pay It Forward, called it just that, paying it forward. God called it showing love. When’s the last time that we showed His love? When’s the last time that we stopped in the middle of our busy days to try to make someone else’s day a little nicer? We who are Christians shouldn’t have to have Oprah or Hollywood movies tell us how to act. God has already commanded us to act. He has commanded us to love. After all, love is a verb. Do it!

The Big Let Down

I heard the most amazing statement today. At first, I thought I heard it incorrectly. Maybe, I thought I heard this, but surely not. It was too profound and yet it stopped me cold with its simplicity. As I was cruising through my friends’ updates on Facebook, I noticed a video post. The word my friend posted below it merely said, “Speechless.” Needless to say, I was intrigued. I clicked on the link that led to a video called, God’s Chisel. It was a very simple video, only two guys, one portraying God and one portraying, well, it could have been any one of us. The man cried out to God to make him more like Him. Then he confessed that he was afraid he couldn’t live up to being like God. He was terrified of letting God down. God said plainly, “You never held me up.” Wow! That’s when it hit me: when we cry out to God for forgiveness of our sins, we beg Him to forgive us for letting Him down. We attach human qualities and attributes to the love of God, as if He judges by the same pitiful standards that we do. We believe that by our sin, we’ve caused God to think less of us, feel less for us, or love us less. Impossible! There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that can cause God to be ‘let down’ by us. The notion of being let down comes from the idea of holding someone up. We have never been the ones to hold God up and, therefore, cannot let Him down. We hold Christians, preachers, teachers, police officers, parents, children, friends and even some politicians to a higher standard on earth. We believe that these people are not allowed the luxury of failing and if they do, they cause us to doubt their passions and motives from the very beginning and disappoint us by their godlessness. We conceitedly and callously think they owe us something because they failed us. We forced them to a place that they were not ready or even willing to go and then we berate them for failing us. How completely backwards! Have we ever stopped to think that it is in those very moments of failure that it is our responsibility to look past the sin, the failure, the disappointment and reach out with love and tenderness to help restore our fallen to their proper place? No man, woman or child can survive forever under the scrutiny of living on a pedestal. We assign that position to them out of our own fears of failure. We believe that if we look up to them, they can show us the way. They can guide us better because they are higher above us and can see further down the path. This is a precarious position in which to live. You see, the higher the pedestal, the longer the fall from it. With so much heavy inspection, the pedestal will come crashing down, idol and all. When we assign someone–anyone—a place of such honor, we’ve replaced God with that person. We’ve committed idol worship. We’ve broken the First Commandment. No one, not our spouses, our children, our jobs, our churches, our ministries, our own bodies or our pursuits of happiness can replace God and there still be true worship for the Almighty God in our hearts, no matter how many songs we sing, hands we raise or Bible studies we attend. God’s love for us is unconditional. There was nothing that we did to earn it and consequently, there is nothing we can do to lose it. He loves me. He loves you. He loves each one of us right now as much as He ever has or ever will. His love has no beginning and no ending. It has no conditions. His love is perfect and complete. When we fall into the habit of trying to assign human characteristics of love to God, we don’t let Him down, we let ourselves down. We realize how little we know of true love, giving or receiving it. We believe it is a feeling that can change as easily as the direction of the wind. We forget that love is a verb. It is an action. It is a decision. It is a commitment. If we would learn to see the Cross as the definition of love, instead of what Hollywood and Hallmark would have us believe, we would begin to understand how to truly love. God decided to love us, committed to save us from our sin and acted by His death as our substitute so that we wouldn’t have to face death and condemnation. God is love. He is the living, breathing, acting definition of love. He isn’t waiting with a down turned frown and words of reprimand for us to fail, He’s waiting with open arms of love, waiting for us to get over ourselves and come back to where we belong, in His loving embrace, where He holds us up and will not and cannot ever let us down.

Finding God in a Chinese Restaurant

We buzzed with excitement as we moved to the table the hostess indicated. Allison had just graduated from college and we were so proud. She had chosen a Chinese restaurant in which to have her post graduation celebration. Everyone was there; mom, daddy, finance, sisters, brother-in-law and nieces. Laughter and smiles were everywhere. As we settled in to our respective seats, conversations became full of questions like, “What are you having?” and “Do you want to order an appetizer?” In the busyness of making food and beverage choices, four years old Marley became quite preoccupied with her latest discovery: chopsticks. It was no surprise that the adults missed her question for the first three or four times she asked.
“Can you show me the right way to use these?” she asked. Her countenance was serious as she concentrated on how to use the chopsticks. Over and over again, she asked, going from one grandparent to the next and one aunt to another. Finally, she was able to capture some of the adults’ attention. Once more, she asked, “Can you show me how to eat with these?” She received answers that ranged from “I never have been able to figure those out” to “I have no idea”. Her countenance dropped, she wanted to use the chopsticks. She wanted to overcome this new challenge. Then like a candle lighting the dark, her face was bright and full of a smile.
“My daddy can show me. He knows everything,” she proudly announced. Suddenly, we were all aware of Marley. Our gaze passed from her to her father who stopped midsentence in discussing his latest work tale and turned to his daughter. As quick as lightning, a huge smile spread across his face and danced in his eyes. His full attention was focused on teaching his daughter how to use her chopsticks.
As I sat there watching her daddy’s face almost burst with palatable pride, I wondered. I wondered, do we ever brag on our Heavenly Father the same way that Marley just did her father? When’s the last time we looked at our circumstances and announced proudly, “My Father can do this for me!” or “My Dad will take care of this new challenge in my life.” I wondered when was the last time that I had felt as confident with God caring for me and wanting to show me the right way to go as Marley was with her daddy. Then, a much more sobering thought passed through my mind. When was the last time that something I said about my Heavenly Father made him smile like Marley’s dad just did? Are my words of praise as sweet to my Father’s ears as Marley’s were to hers?

Firsts

Firsts can be amazing...your first new bike as a kid, your first day driving with your new license, your first kiss. Yes, firsts are wonderful. They are the beginning of something; something new and exciting. Remember the butterflies you had in your stomach when you went on your first date? Firsts: exciting, thrilling, breath-taking, nerve racking. I believe God intended for us to have all those feelings before we begin something. He wants us to be thrilled, excited, nervous, overwhelmed with the idea of possibilities. I believe He was filled with some of those same emotions on that first day...you know, THE very first day, ever. "And God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light. God saw that the light was good..." Sure, He already knew the beginning from the end and every possible thing in between, but it says that He saw that the light was good. Perfect. A perfect creation by a perfect God and still He chose to look upon it before deciding that it was good. Have you ever wondered why? I'm not claiming to have that knowledge but you have to wonder if, when He set the firsts in motion, if He could already feel the pain of our rejection...a first for Him.
You see, not all firsts are wonderful. Some are downright awful! I have a friend who remembers going to kindergarten and getting paddled for misbehaving on the very first day! You can imagine how excited he was to go back, right? What if your first love breaks your heart? That first isn't one you'd readily sign up to go through again. No, not all firsts are waited on with bated breath. For those who mourn over the death of a loved one, every first brings pain. The first Mother's Day without mom. The first Father's dad without your dad opening yet another tie. The first Christmas without. The first birthday, uncelebrated. Pain. Loneliness. Hurt. Tears.
Why would a loving God put us through all of that? Doesn't He understand how deeply it cuts us, all the way to our core?
Yes, He understands. He feels more than we can even imagine. He feels every joy and hurt, hears ever laugh and cry, sees every smile and tear. He knows how we feel because He feels it too. When we laugh, He laughs. When we cry, He cries. Every emotion we could ever possibly go through, He knows. He knows and shares with us. Hebrews 4:15 (NIV) promises us this: "For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are--yet was without sin."
Firsts don't scare God. They don't surprise Him either. He has no fear of the unknown for there is no unknown for Him. He knows. He cares. He loves. He mourns with us during every bad and rejoices with us during every good. Whether it's a first tear at the birth of a child or the first tear at the death of a loved one, He knows.