BAREFOOT

            Every morning I wake up with a choice. The new day stretches out before me like a blank canvas waiting for brush strokes to bring it to life. Scripture describes it this way, “His mercies are new every morning.” I love that.  I need that.  A fresh start…a second chance…every single day.  What will I do with this gift today? Whether pulled in a dozen directions with more tasks than I can possibly accomplish, or faced with no tasks and the despair of a meaningless day, God gives me the very same gift: New mercies…a clean slate.  

            More than twenty-two thousand brand new days have been given to me.  Some have been squandered, some ignored, but some have been treated as precious and have blossomed into days of meaning and significance.  Given the choice, I want my brand new day to be one of eternal significance and intimate fellowship with my Creator. I want my day to matter.  I want to sense God’s presence so powerfully that I can hold His hand.  Interestingly enough, that is what God wants too.  So many passages in His word are designed to teach me how. 

            Many of God’s messages encourage us to come to Him, to seek Him, and to draw closer.  Why then does he tell Moses, “Do not come any closer”? That grabs my attention.  First, God wants him to take off his shoes because he is standing on holy ground. This is confusing, because anyone who has worn sandals before knows that one’s feet get almost as dirty as one’s footwear. So why does God require bare feet from Moses?  Could it be because God wants to eliminate the barriers in our lives that have constant contact with the filth of this world? What is it in my life that encounters the dirt and the debris of this world? Could it be what I am reading, or watching on TV, or a person with whom I have developed a relationship? Is God asking me to shed something in order to achieve a close, meaningful walk with Him?

            Maybe Moses sandals needed to come off because they represent our human efforts to navigate in this world. Maybe God wanted Moses to come to Him with an awareness of his helplessness apart from God. The truth is we arm ourselves with the trappings of self-sufficiency, and deceive ourselves into believing that we are safe because we have financial security, or employment, or loved ones all around us. Could God be telling me to shed the false sense of security and recognize Him as my only true security?  I certainly don’t have all the answers, but I have a new day. I have a fresh start. I am coming to Him barefoot, I want nothing between us!

LEGACY

This handsome guy standing next to me (I'm the one in the unfortunate pants) is my big brother, Billy.  Bill Jackson to most. Today I have been bombarded with reminders of him.  He had a very aggressive cancer and died 5 years ago. I miss him all the time, but I can't think of him without smiling because he just made me smile...all the time!  It was a gift.  He encouraged everyone around him, and even when he was enduring the painful indignities of desperate medical measures, he found humor in the process.  He made every story an adventure.  You may have noticed that I admired him greatly.  

My day began this morning at 4:00 A.M. when my sister and I woke up early to take our parents to one of the fifty thousand Baylor hospitals in Dallas (a one hour drive unless it is rush hour, then it is a 24 hour drive). I have devoted more than one blog post to my parents because they are an inexhaustible source of inspiration and humor.  Of course, they have had 91 and 92 years to produce all of this encouraging fodder. That is one hundred and eighty-three combined years! 

Mentally they are still about 35 years old, but physically time keeps playing mean tricks on them.  Today it was Mom's turn. It seems there is a tumor on or near her kidney, so we went to have a biopsy.  (I say we, but Mom was the one with the giant needle sticking in her!) As usual, she looked beautiful and prepared for the day.  Did I mention we picked them up at 5 A.M.? Dad became best friends with the admitting office personnel, the nurses, the doctors, the technicians and even the girls at Starbucks. That's what he does! Mom just quietly modeled what the ideal patient should be: attentive, compliant, caring attitude...you get my drift. 

In the hours we spent at the hospital complex I didn't know what to expect, but it never dawned on me that the day would be filled with reminders of Billy. 

In our search for chocolate, Shirley and I ventured out to the neighboring hospital, and there was the fountain, and the familiar gold elevators that instantly transported me to thoughts of Billy.

For the remainder of the day with Mom and Dad, the forefront of our thoughts were of course with my mother and her procedure and the uncertain outcome. I should clarify. The outcome of the biopsy is uncertain, but not my parents future in this world or the life to come.  What I am sure of is that however many years God gives them, they will live lives of joy and of trust in God; they will encourage those around them; and they will always point people to Jesus. One hundred and eighty-three years of experience tells me this. 

In the background of my mind today, thoughts of Billy lingered, and then the most beautiful thing happened!  I was driving along to my sister Lynda's house when a beautiful song came on the radio. Not just any song.  This Christian song was hugely popular a few years ago, but is not played very often anymore.  It was written and sung by the talented Nicole Nordeman. What made this song so remarkable today, with bittersweet memories of Billy, is that Nicole sang it at Billy's funeral.  I didn't even know that they were personal friends until she began to sing that day. I learned that he quietly invested his life into MANY others and never looked for recognition in what he did.  We did not know a fraction of the things he did for others! Read the words of this chorus and enjoy the sweet gift that God gave as this song filled my car and my heart!

I want to leave a legacy.

How will they remember me?

Did I choose to love?

Did I point to you enough

to make a mark on things?

I want to leave an offering.

A child of mercy and grace

who blessed your name,

 unapologetically,

and leave that kind of legacy.

Of course, it helps to have Nicole's hauntingly beautiful voice singing these lyrics, but what a fitting song for Billy, and what a sweet reminder from God today.                                                

I miss you, Billy!

                                                                                               

THE MAGIC CARPET OF TRAVEL

       

           Years ago I learned the magic formula for successful long distance drives with an SUV full of kids. The novice will pack the vehicle with snacks, dinosaurs, ponies, sticker and coloring books only to find crumbs in every crevice, dinosaur shaped bruises on the back of one's head, ponies swirling around by their tails like sling shots, and stickers and crayon marks on the once pristine surface of the leather upholstery. Finally desperation and divine intervention may lead them to find a fabulous Book on Tape. Imagine my shock when I discovered that it kept the attention of my four children riveted for hours at a time.  The miles disappeared like magic.

I know, I know, I can hear you sneering right through my computer. Books on Tape are "Old School", you say.  We have DVDs, iPads,  game systems, etc. etc. None of these aforementioned gizmos hold a candle to a captivating book narrated by a brilliant storyteller.  
          One happy day when I was driving my little brood from South Carolina to Texas (1,176.4 miles, but whose counting) I happened upon a Mary Higgins Clark book on tape.  

We listened as our innocent heroine became entangled in a terrible plot through South Carolina and well into Georgia. The plot thickened all the way through Alabama and Mississippi and Louisiana, and she only escaped doom by the skin of her teeth when we arrived in Texas! This was when I became enslaved to "Audio Book Magic!"   This travel remedy saved many a trip.
          Now, instead of traveling with the children, these same children are my destination.  Somehow I still have to travel hundreds of miles, so I have become somewhat of an expert on audio books for travel. Let me clue you in on one important fact: all books are not equal. I can save you some serious aggravation on your next journey.  I once heard a sappy romance novel that induced me to ridicule my CD player out loud, sneering and scoffing at the absurdity of the characters.(the book is NOT pictured) This resulted in arriving at my loved-ones house in a state of irritation. Yes, the selection of books is paramount!         

You also don't want to be a blubbering idiot, sobbing like you've lost your last friend because the story your hearing wrings out all of your emotions (That may or may not have happened once...thank you Karen Kingsbury) Beware of extremely emotional novels while driving. I'm pretty sure this will be a law some day. 
          No, for me the best solution for passing the miles quickly is a well-written suspense novel.  I can actually become so immersed in the story that I become unaware of certain details.

I no longer take it personally when a rude driver cuts me off, or construction slows everyone down to a crawl. Even little things like veering off of Interstate 20 onto Interstate 59 and driving 87 miles off course in Mississippi become insignificant compared to the fear and danger faced by my new best friends luring me into their story.

That little blooper didn't seem so bad when you consider that the unabridged story was 11 hours and with my two and a half hour detour, I was able to hear the entire book on my journey!
          I hope this will encourage you to select a fabulous book for your next long drive.  Just remember to avoid sappy romance, avoid emotional carnage, and do select an intricate suspense story that will make the miles fly (hopefully in the right direction).

THAT TIME I WRESTLED WITH GOD

         

          This morning I was reminded of a time when I wrestled with God.  It was as real a battle as the one described in Genesis 32 between Jacob and God, and it left me changed.  This occurred a few short years ago after a devastating moment in the life of our family. 

 My husband Steve, fell about 40 feet from the steep rooftop of our tall, Victorian house, and though he was  battered and broken, he survived. That event has become a dividing line for everything that happens in our family.  That happened before the accident, or that happened after the accident.  I did not wrestle with God at that moment, it took a few more days, and a few more blows before I took a swing at God.
          It was not as if I thought God had abandoned us, far from it.  I remember rushing outside after the horrific clatter of ladders falling, to find Steve lying in the yard in great pain and confusion. Despite the obvious severity of his injuries, I was immediately perplexed and assured of God's intervention by two curious facts. The first inexplicable element was the fact that Steve was talking and moving, even his feet.  When the full realization of his impossible fall hit me, I was dumbfounded. How could he be conscious? How could his spine not be severed? In a split second I knew that God was at work.  The other perplexing truth was the location of his landing.  How did he get so far from the house? How did he avoid all the brick sidewalks and stone columns that surround the house? I do not claim to be an expert in physics, but I could look at the steep pitch of the roof and see that the angle of his fall made no sense.  He landed on a patch of grass far removed from the deadly brick and stone. I kept looking at the roof as we waited for the ambulance, shaking my head in bafflement.  I felt like Mr. Banks in Mary Poppins looking into his fireplace as he tried to make sense of the torn letter that he had destroyed.

          The weeks of life at the hospital Intensive Care Unit began, and not a day, or even an hour went by that God did not show himself.  Steve had a broken back, but it was not severed, so he would not be paralyzed. He had a Traumatic Brain Injury but it would be months before we would know the extent of it. All around me were church members and friends who encouraged, prayed and  loved our family in many tangible ways.  It is humiliating to think that in the middle of all of this I would pick a fight with God.

            Some scary developments arose.  Several blood clots were discovered in his Carotid artery and another that leads to the brain.  A hidden wound under his beard became infected with Staph. We waited to hear from the lab whether or not the infection was MRSA, the most likely to be deadly, especially since the infection had traveled from his tracheae to his lungs.

His life seemed to be dependent on a multitude of wires, tubes and moniters that just looked like spaghetti to me! The dreaded report came back from the lab that his Staph was definitely MRSA.  I kept reminding myself that his recovery was not one bit more difficult for God today than it had been yesterday.  But I had to remind myself  of that over and over and over.
          I awoke early the next morning preparing for my daily trek to the ICU, when I got a phone call that pushed me over the edge.  My mother had a heart attack.  She and my father (and one sister) were in Hong Kong at the time.  Everything in me screamed that I had to go be with her!  What if I would never see her again in this life? Of course...I couldn't go.  I needed to be in Columbia with Steve.  It was just too much to bear!  I got in my car to drive to the hospital and I railed at God! Really, God?  You didn't think I had enough on my plate? This is too much!  My hands may have been on the wheel, but God knew I was shaking a fist in his face. I was mad! Wrestling with God took the form of screaming out his injustices and announcing to him that I was not going to take it anymore.  Somehow I sensed God asking me if I really wanted to take over these situations.  Did I really believe I knew best? Did I want to be God? That stopped me.  It literally stopped me.  I pulled over and wept.  I told God I really didn't want his job.  What have I ever done without him that was worth anything?  I know the answer to that question. Nothing! Ever! Not one thing!  
          The circumstances did not change in that moment, but my heart did.  The remainder of my drive to the hospital God was cradling me in his arms.  Thankfully, he won our little Wrestlmania match, but he gave me the prize.  He is generous like that.
         I don't like to leave you hanging, so let me tell you that My Mom will soon have her 92 birthday.

She and my Dad still have sharp minds and know how to encourage those around them.  Steve has been blessed to experience so much life in these last 6 years.  He has seen both sons married, walked our youngest daughter down the aisle and danced with her at her wedding, he has seen the birth of three grandchildren, and has been able to work some.  He walks with a cane (when he remembers it). 

BABY BOOMER BEFUDDLEMENT

       

  Many people know the lesson of the Frog in the Kettle…where the Frog just hops out of the pot of boiling water if you try to toss him in. Of course, I’m still trying to figure out how any human being was ever inspired to cook a slimy frog in the first place….but I digress.  These nameless (and hungry) people learned that if you put a frog in a pot of water at room temperature, then slowly let it reach a boil, the unsuspecting frog gets cooked without ever sensing danger. 

          We can thank George Barna for bringing this analogy to our attention.  As much as I resent being compared to a slimy, brainless frog, the truth is we swim around in our pot (our culture) with the temperature rising dramatically, but the losses and concessions are so incremental we fail to take action. 

          This fable can be applied to an almost endless list of changes that we Baby Boomers have witnessed so far in our lives, but I find myself navigating a bizarre and uncharted “Twilight Zone” of culture that has resulted in befuddlement and frustration.  What is this activity that I have engaged in that has brought about such dismay?  I have found myself in the ranks of at least 10% of all Americans right now; I am looking for a job! 

          As a Baby Boomer, I clearly remember the lessons my parents taught us about putting our best foot forward.  I was to bring my resume and letters of recommendation with me, dress professionally, start early, be confident, and look the interviewer in the eye. 

Imagine my shock when I learned that most companies don’t even want job seekers to walk through their doors.  They don’t have a place for those resumes even if you did walk in.  Everything is done on line.  Suddenly I feel like I am living in George Orwell’s 1984. 
          I have nothing against computers (at least most of the time), but Dang! Let’s see what happens when a computer takes over this formerly human aspect of employment. There are about 30 employment recruitment companies online that now have my resume and probably enough personal information to steal my identity and sell it to some guy named Nicolai.

They send me emails three times a day with “hot job prospects” which I sift through and respond to or delete. If you have engaged in this process in the last 10 years or so, you may also realize that for some reason when you apply for a job on line, you are guaranteed to become very popular with the “Education” crowd.  These are hard sell companies who call you on your cell phone to tell you how desperately you need to get an “Associates Degree” (never mind that I already have a Bachelor’s Degree).  This crowd loves me so much that they call me four times a day to encourage me to go back to school.   

A few days ago some company in Memphis called to tell me that my resume looked like I would be a good fit for their branch office in Fort Worth, Texas, where I now live.  They set up an interview with an actual human being at their office.  Please understand that my resume is very eclectic with experience in writing everything from news copy and magazine articles to promotional materials and radio commercials.  It also includes on air radio experience, and enough clerical work to lead me to consider jobs as an "Administrative Assistant” which is the PC term for secretary. 

          So…with a positive attitude, a professional demeanor, and plenty of time to navigate the Interstate Highways of Fort Worth, I set off for my interview at the mysterious and generic-sounding company. My GPS guided me through the maze of construction and warehouses until it landed me at a suspiciously plain brick building in an industrial, and dare I say sketchy part of town?

    Picture if you will the memorable scene in What's Up Doc, where Madeline Kahn finds herself in an uncomfortable place.   My radar on alert, I entered the office which ironically included the word “Security” in its title.  The receptionist handed me a stack of forms the like of which I had not seen since we closed on our last house. She directed me to a room with a table and chairs and asked me to fill them out.  One hour and two fountain pens later, I returned the stack of completed forms, and asked a couple of important questions. 1. “Why did I have to give permission attend a security certification class?   2. “Why did I have to agree to pay for the State of Texas fingerprint and background check out of my first paycheck? 3. What is this job? Important questions all!
          Apparently the corporate office in Memphis felt that I would be a perfect “Receptionist” for this Security Company.

By receptionist I mean, that person who runs the metal detector wand over people when they are entering or leaving a large office and checks briefcases of the trusted employees when they are exiting the building. The human I finally spoke to was very nice. We enjoyed the chat immensely, but we both knew rather quickly that this job was not, in fact, a very good fit. Thank you computerized employment world!  

          As a Baby Boomer in a Generation X (or is it Y or is it Me) world, I feel as though I'm living in a world I don't entirely recognize.  I freely admit I'm hopelessly old fashioned.  I long for the days of human interaction, and assessment of the individual rather than the computer profile. Ribbit...

HIDDEN TREASURE

I never dreamed when I resumed my task of cleaning and de-cluttering closets today that I would unearth the most amazing treasure! There it was, hidden in a big black box beneath a mountain of hanging garments that have not seen the light of day since shoulder pads were mandatory.  The construction paper was cracking at the edges, the handwriting was little more than a scrawl, but this container was filled with the reminders and rewards of my greatest life's work.  

I found hilarious reminders that even when they were misbehaving my children could be creative. For example there was that day that Big brother and Little sister were squabbling so much that Daddy intervened.  He required them to write a report on why they had such a bad attitude.  This was the worst possible punishment for children who were supposed to be having a day off of school!  Behold Big Brother's report, and note his total innocence in the whole affair.

I can only assume from this paper, that Big brother was required to write 2 pages.  Let us see how Little Sister responded to the task.

Well, it appears it was my fault after all.  I served the SAME breakfast as always.  The truth is, along with the fussing there was always laughing and playing and plotting and performing all woven together to form the fabric of our family.  I miss those mornings, so the box in the closet reminded me of forgotten joys.  I would not want you to be deceived into thinking that I was a perfect mother (just read a couple of past posts and that will cure you) or that our household ran like clockwork.  If I wanted to pretend that it was so, the little poem I wrote after dropping the kids off at school should be proof enough that I had my own "issues".

Short Order Mom

by Juanita Hayden 

Lord, how I long to be a creature of order!

The diligent mother, the thoughtful daughter.

The children's homework, complete in clean rooms .

All sleeping soundly; hair washed and groomed.

The household awakes cheerfully at six.

Grateful for breakfast that's already fixed.

Their clothes neatly pressed and laid out last night.

Their shoes never lost, sit plainly in sight.

They skip to the car, all polished and gleaming.

Anxious for school, their little hearts singing.

The first to arrive, they respectfully play.

Pondering how they might help out that day.

I flit around making beds, doing laundry.

Touching up lipstick, scrubbing floors without floundering.

I plan the week's menu; delicious, low fat!

And all on a budget that won't feed a gnat.

Now, what is that ringing? The alarm rudely sounding!

It must be an error, off it goes with fist pounding.

The button is lost 'neath a mountain of rubble.

So I trip from the bed on a shoe with no double.

"Good Morning!" I call to my children, who groan.

I pry them from bed to a chorus of moans.

No breakfast today, unless it's dry cheerios.

"Why aren't you dressed? You can't wear those clothes!"

With no clean socks, the last underwear,

Homework is lost, snarls in their hair.

"You must get to school, and hurry," I scream!

How I wish I could get back to bed and my dream.!"

DO-OVERS

       

  Have you ever witnessed that moment when two people realize that they actually know each other?  A beautiful reunion from the distant past elicits such an expression of wonder and excitement.  I got to watch such a reunion at work when a customer realized that one of my co-workers was her high school math teacher the very first year that she taught.  "You used to have the longest, most beautiful hair!" she recalled with a nostalgic expression.  That's what caused me to remember my young, beautiful first grade teacher, Mrs. Scargle.

          As the child of missionaries, I was able to begin the first grade in Abilene, Texas because we were back in the States on furlough.  Mrs. Scargle was so kind and soft spoken that she was elevated in my mind almost as high as Haley Mills, although no one could attain that status entirely! I must give her full credit, because I was not an easy child in the classroom.  This was before the days when ADHD was diagnosed so frequently.  Had it been, I could easily have been the poster child.
                 Mrs. Scargle had a way of lowering her volume instead of increasing it when the classroom began to get too loud.  It worked every time.  I would see her speaking, but could not hear her over my own voice and I would pipe down so I wouldn't miss anything.  If I became too rambunctious, she would calmly make her way to my chair and put her hand on my shoulder to soothe me.  That worked too.  I was so eager to please her that all she had to do when disciplining me was to tell me how disappointed she was in my behavior and I was devastated and determined to do better (for at least 5 minutes).  
          But "incidents" seemed inevitable. Like that infamous game of Duck, Duck, Goose.  I promise it was an accident!

            My best friends in the class were boys.  I honestly don't know why, but it was undeniable.  A girl (let's call her Debbie) was racing around our game circle trying to catch my good buddy (let's call him John) when I noticed that she was gaining on him.  That was unacceptable! John must NOT be caught! In desperation I reached my hand behind me to slow her progress as she flew past just in time to grasp the hem of her dress. RIIIIIIIP!  The unmistakable sound of fabric tearing filled the playground. I quickly let go of her dress, but I had torn most of the skirt clear off of the bodice.  I was horrified, but of course I couldn't undo the damage.  She huddled in Mrs. Scargle's arms sobbing over her damaged dress while my hero, the beautiful and sweet Mrs. Scargle, tried to keep the fabric modestly over poor Debbie.  My goose was cooked. I was so sorry, but all the other children were glaring at me and I had no defense.  The disappointment in Mrs. Scargle's eyes as she talked to me later was almost too much to bear. 
           The year had its ups and downs. One highlight concerned my birthday party.  Since we had been living in Japan for years and my parents did not really know the other parents at school, they sent me to school with 12 Birthday party invitations and instructions to carefully hand them out to my friends because we couldn't afford to ask everyone to come.  I did as instructed. When my party day finally arrived I was so excited.  I got to wear my brand new party dress with the pretty sash in the back, and the back yard was all set up for games and cake.

     My friends started to arrive.  John, Billy, Andrew...one by one they came until all twelve were there, and not one girl was among them.                                   We moved back to Japan and I had many incredible teachers.  But there was never anyone like Mrs. Scargle. I wondered where she might be after I grew into adulthood,  but there was no internet back then, and I knew that I would probably never see her again.  Imagine my surprise when I discovered one day that I was to have her daughter in a Sunday School class I was teaching!  My work as a radio news reporter had brought me back to Abilene, Texas, and I had agreed to teach the eighth grade girls Sunday School class in
 my new church.
           I had worked in radio long enough to consider myself unflappable with nerves of steel. But when I realized that Mrs. Ann Scargle was a member of my church and I would be teaching her daughter, I was beyond scared. I had nightmares about tearing someone's dress.  
          Sunday morning arrived and I was careful to look my best and be on time (it had to happen one day).  I had the opportunity to meet my ten young girls including Julie Scargle.
          They probably didn't know how petrified I really was.  We spent some time in introductions and I presented the lesson for which I had carefully prepared. We laughed and enjoyed the hour together and I mentally congratulated myself on the stellar job I was doing. 
          One of the girls arrived late and we had to squeeze another chair into our tiny room, so I pushed the door closed to create a space for the new chair.  When it was time to break so we could attend the service I reversed the process. The only problem was that the door knob fell off in my hand and the door would not open. We were trapped!  We had been having such a great time that we were the last small group to finish. No one else was in the outer room to hear my awkward pleas for release. (this was pre-cell phone of course)  I don't remember how long we knocked and banged on the wall for our release, but it felt like eternity to me.  I realized that all hope of creating a brilliant first impression with Mrs. Scargle was surely dashed.
          After the church service that day I had my reunion with Mrs. Scargle.   
           She was still beautiful and soft spoken.  She was also very gracious about my inauspicious beginning as her daughter's Sunday School teacher.  After all these years she was still encouraging and kind. We don't always get "do-overs" in life. Unexpected reunions are like "do-overs".  Despite the fact that I did not get to present myself as mature, perfect, and qualified, I cannot deny that I was myself, and Mrs. Scargle was still loving and gracious. Everybody should get a "do-over" sometime.