The Significance of Insignificance

I wrote this story several years ago simply to express what I was feeling but chose to keep it to myself as it felt, in the writing, that I was feeling somewhat sorry for myself.  Looking back, however, I can see the beauty of what God was allowing me to experience and the necessity of being able to share real feelings even when those feelings are not warm and fuzzy.  I hope you will be able to see the beauty in the sharing of the significance of insignificance as it relates to your own journey.  

Sometimes we are led on a journey that feels very much against our better judgment to embark upon.  We are led through the desert sands; surrounded on every side by desolation and barrenness. The journey is one of great loneliness with views of scorched ground and probing wind as far as the eye can see.

Life appears to be happening all around me during this season of walking the desert; yet the green paths are not accessible to me as my path leads further down into the dry desert sands.

Others pass by as they veer to the left or to the right onto paths leading to lush green landscapes, bubbling brooks and cool shade; but I am not given permission to follow others on their journey.  

Instead, I must press on and feel the full heat of the sand on my feet and the afternoon sun on my face.  I fear I may not make it through another day.

Life becomes unbearable as each day attempts to knock me down and keep me down.  There is no end in sight.  My plans and goals for the future are forgotten as I simply strive to survive the next step in front of me.  Gone are dreams; instead, one word forces its way past my dry throat and parched lips—“insignificant.”

There was a season when I felt God’s favor and blessing on everything that my hands touched and my eyes beheld.  Blue skies and green pastures filled my vision from every mountain top experience.  Seasons have a way of changing; if we are not paying attention they can catch us unaware.  I am slowly learning that I must embrace each season without questioning the One who not only made the seasons but whom also set forth the time and length for each season.

As my Maker gazes upon me and beholds me from His panoramic view, He refuses to turn His face away from His creation.  Even in the Valley of Despair, I feel His gaze.  Through my weak faith and small spirit, I beg Him to not turn away from me.  

He has shown me that He is doing a new thing.  I see only desert and feel only loss.  He has told me that never will He leave me or forsake me; I feel only loneliness.  

He shows me through His Word that He can take that which is insignificant and make it a vessel that He can use to bring glory to His name.  

This insignificant life must be emptied before it can be used to bring significance to the One for whom my heart beats unashamedly and desperately.   

I will lift up mine eyes to the Maker of all the seasons.

Stay the Course...

Sheila

Devastating Storms

Exactly 35 years ago today Wisconsin experienced one of the worst natural disasters to ever hit the Chippewa Valley- a devastating storm with winds over 100 mph and ten brief tornado touch downs.

Not to give away my age, but I was 14 years old at the time.

Our family resided on a dairy farm in the farming community of Fall Creek.  Like thousands of people, I will never forget that fateful night.  Our parents shouted for us to get to the basement as my older sister and I were instructed to grab our younger brother and sister who were asleep.  We dragged their sleepy bodies down two flights of stairs into the musty basement of our farm house as the window in our dining room shattered to pieces.

Me and my five siblings huddled together with our parents in the creepy, spider webby basement. Noises I had never heard before filled my frightful ears.  Mother instructed us firmly stating that if we had never before prayed, now was the time to start.  I don’t think I quite knew how to pray in that moment.  Instead, I stood as quiet as I could stand with the hopes that my good behavior might somehow make the madness stop. 

A large oak tree in our front yard fell to its death; thankfully falling away from the house.  The following morning brought a quiet eeriness as families emerged from their homes to survey the destruction.  Damage to agriculture and crops was devastating. Although my dad didn’t say much I knew he was deeply concerned for what lie ahead both for our family and for many families in our community.

As disasters have a way of doing; our community banded together to clean up and salvage all that we could salvage.  Neighbor helping neighbor.  Perspectives were changed over night; I felt thankful to be alive.

Devastating storms have a way of either drawing us closer to our Maker, opening our eyes to our own mortality or pushing us further away as we question why storms must be faced at all.

All these years later I am able to recollect many storms that have been faced in my own life, some literally and others spiritually, financially or physically.  And I am thankful for the lessons brought by each storm that have been forever engraved upon my heart.

In the Gospel of Luke, we enter into a literal storm with Jesus and His disciples as they are crossing the lake in a boat.  The “boat was being swamped, and they were in great danger.” (Luke 8:23)  The disciples freaked out and woke up Jesus saying, “Master, Master, we’re going to drown!” (vs. 24)

After waking up and rebuking the wind and the raging waters; the storm subsided.  Jesus asked His disciples, “Where is your faith?” (vs. 25)

The storm offered the disciples two choices: respond in fear or respond in faith.  

Within each one of us, each disciple of Jesus, lies the option to respond to storms with the fear of a 14 year old who can’t remember how to pray or the faith of a soldier who understands that  devastating storms are necessary to grow us more into the character of the One who will never abandon us.

Unlike the early disciples, we do not need to run around looking for Jesus on the boat of our storms; He has given us the gift of His Spirit, a trusted Companion who is with us always.  If we don’t know how to pray we can simply ask Him and He will teach us and will intercede on our behalf.

Faith always overcomes fear as we learn to trust our Maker in the midst of our storms.

Stay the Course…

Sheila

Where The Spirit of The Lord Is

I gaze out at the airplane wing surrounded by white clouds en route to Alaska having just left a place that I once called home, a place filled with extraordinary people whom I love - Wisconsin.

As it goes with most trips, the primary purpose of the trip was accomplished.  However, often a truer purpose finds it way into our hearts slipping in from different angles along the way in the process of accomplishing one’s intended primary purpose.

Each person that I spent time with while on my trip was a person with whom I shared something invaluable; a rich history of memories that we had collected together over the expanse of time.  Both the good and the painful memories have made me and my family who we are today.

Not only did I feel the presence of God in many of my encounters with cherished friends during the trip; but not being caught up in my daily routine, I was able to see the glory of God in normal every day occurrences as well:

The sight of an old barn, cows grazing in a pasture, rolling countryside, the sound of birds chirping and the way a subtle, silent cloak of darkness hides the light of day at day’s end.  Alaska summer days begin and end with lightness— I had forgotten that Wisconsin summer nights provide a finale of darkness like a curtain closing to make certain that we know the day has come to an end.

As I stood to worship in a church I had been actively involved in many years earlier, with a dear friend whom I have known for the same length of time, I heard a soft whisper, “Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.”  I looked into my friend’s eyes and knew that the Spirit was speaking to her heart too.  

Instead of closing my eyes, I took in the environment the way a small child takes in the awe and wonder of his or her first carousel ride or first push in a swing.  As a gift to me in my desperate prayer of the last five years, “Father, what is church supposed to look like?” time stood still as I beheld a room full of faithful servants freely expressing their love to God.  Like no where else on earth, these were people with whom I shared history, life, laughter, tears.  These beautiful weathered saints had stayed the course, survivors of voracious storms bent on pulling them away from the four walls of the church.  Together they stood.  The pastor, more passionate and bold than I remembered, led God’s church with humility and a dose of social awkwardness. I smiled remembering his quirks as well as his faithfulness to preach God’s Word.

Where the Spirit of the Lord is there is freedom.  Freedom to be bold, to be awkward, to be the imperfect picture of the full perfection of Christ.  To be made strong in weakness, to stand together even when it would be easier to turn and run.  To be accountable to one another and to commit to staying committed regardless the valleys forged along the journey.  

The sound of the plane rumbles in my ears, I am full of joy knowing that God will continue to show me what His church looks like in answer to my prayer, and more importantly how to live out church in such as way as to reach those who are without hope in a dark lost world.   

God’s church is no respecter of geography; whether Wisconsin or Alaska or wherever God has placed each person geographically; His church must stand united across the continents.

Church is a place where we come together to express our love to the Creator of the mountains and of the valleys.  As we pour out our praise and worship to our King, the Spirit fills us with freedom that cannot be contained.  A freedom that is downright contagious, never intended to be kept within the walls of a place called church.

Stay the Course…

Sheila

Always Expect A Train

In our attempt to enjoy Alaska’s short summer, my husband and I have been enjoying biking along the inlet on the Coastal Trail.  

Above the first overpass in the upper left hand corner is a sign that catches our attention each time we enter the tunnel: “Always Expect a Train.”

Yesterday as we embarked upon the rainy, windy trail those words hit me differently as I was still pondering the Sunday message from earlier in the day on Daring Faith.

To begin a bike journey with heightened awareness to expect a train at any moment keeps one on his or her toes.  The thought made me wonder how differently I might approach each day were there to be a sign posted next to my bed stating, “Always Expect a Miracle.” 

I doubt David woke up on the morning that he would look back at as the day he took out Goliath, expecting the day to hold a miracle.  However, David obviously wasn’t opposed to the notion when God filled him with courage on that momentous day: he was prepared.

We find Gideon, the least in his family, threshing wheat in a winepress cowering in fear of the oppressive Midianites, when the angel of the Lord appeared.  The angel of the Lord was able to see past Gideon’s lack of faith, his genealogy and his fear when he addressed him for the person he was somewhere deep within, “The Lord is with you, mighty warrior.” (Judges 6:12)

Daniel did not wake up one morning with the knowledge that he would be sharing a den with lion’s that very night. We aren’t privy to the inner struggles Daniel had to work through or if he simply trusted God to rescue him from the lions.  

When a person is living fully in faith, perhaps the byproduct is a readiness and an ongoing expectation of miracles.  

I wouldn’t know. 

I find myself more familiar with the insecurities of Gideon than with the fearless faith of David and Daniel.  Thank the Lord for his ability to see past each of our insecurities into the hidden parts of the heart where we genuinely long for God to do through us that which we are unable to do on our own.

How differently we might approach our day knowing that we are both prepared for and expectant of a miracle.  And how much more differently we might approach life knowing that WE might be the vessel through whom the miracle might flow.

Feeding five thousand men with five loaves and two fish would no longer sound like an impossibility but rather a miracle we were eagerly expecting from Jesus.  The paradigm would switch from living in fear to living in expectation that our God can do what He says He can do; and that we can be a part of what He is doing.

We have to be ready for the train which means we have to be looking and listening for the train.

It’s time to stop living in fear.  It’s time to start living as prepared, sold out, unwavering disciples expecting miracles in unexpected, unpredictable, non impressive places.

Stay the Course…

Sheila

The Second Journey

In preparing for an upcoming trip back to the state where our children were mostly raised, the place where I also spent some memorable years of my own childhood, and the place where my husband and I were fully engaged in every sphere of life—it got me thinking.

Have you ever been fully engaged in life when suddenly something happens and you are no longer able to keep life in working order? When you are dragged away from chosen and cherished patterns to face strange crisis?

In Brennan Manning’s book, “The Ragamuffin Gospel,” he shares this occurrence so poignantly: “Many people between the ages of thirty and sixty- whatever their stature in the community and whatever their personal achievements - undergo what can truly be called a second journey.”

Second journeys happen in different ways and at unexpected times when suddenly what has been normal is interrupted by a probing thought (such as “Is there more to life than making money?”), a circumstance such as an accident or an infidelity, the sudden loss of a loved one, or crises of differing natures.

Manning goes on to say, “Second journeys usually end quietly with a new wisdom and a coming to a true sense of self that releases great power. The wisdom is that of an adult who has regained equilibrium, stabilized, and found fresh purpose and new dreams. It is a wisdom that gives some things up, lets some things die, and accepts human limitations. It is a wisdom that realizes: I cannot expect anyone to understand me fully. It is wisdom that admits the inevitability of old age and death. It is a wisdom that has faced the pain caused by parents, spouse, family, friends, colleagues, business associates, and has truly forgiven them and acknowledged with unexpected compassion that these people are neither angels nor devils, but only human.  

The second journey begins when we know we cannot live the afternoon of life according to the morning program. We are aware that we only have a limited amount of time left to accomplish that which is really important - and that awareness illumines for us what really matters, what really counts. This conviction provides a new center.”

For me, having a name to identify with what has been happening in my world for the last several years - a second journey or second calling -  has brought great peace and awakened an inner strength.  Instead of wondering “What’s wrong with me?” I am realizing that God is beckoning me into deeper relationship with Him.  A relationship that at times feels isolated and lonely.  I am learning day by day that God loves me as I am, not for whom I hope to one day become - no performance necessary.

Manning states that the second call is “a summons to a deeper, more mature commitment of faith where the naiveté, first fervor, and untested idealism of the morning and the first commitment have been seasoned with pain, rejection, failure, loneliness, and self-knowledge.”

If you are struggling and feel that you have been stumbling and failing; do not be discouraged.  God may be calling you into your second journey and into a new understanding of how deep is His love for you.  We are not called to project the perfect image of ourselves to the world.  We are called to love as we have been loved by the One who laid down His life for us— the One who IS Love.

As I prepare to head back to my old stomping grounds I chose to revel in the beauty of the priceless memories made with my family in a place we once called home.

Though the transition from the morning program to the afternoon program has had its share of bumps and what some might label “FAILURE,” I find that I am still smiling.  I am choosing to walk bravely through the door marked “Second Journey” filled with renewed hope and peace — with the grace of a woman who no longer fears failure; a woman deeply loved by her Creator.

Stay the Course…

Sheila

The Man in The Red Jacket

Sometimes I am inspired by a person whom I have never met.  Normally, it’s a trait that he or she possesses that I find to be inspiring in ways that may or may not make sense to anyone but me.

Lately, my inspiration has been found in a stranger: the man in the red jacket.

I see him out running, mostly in the morning hours.  I see him on the bike trail, a full head of silver hair, wearing a red jacket, running with a slow but steady pace.  His form is perfect, posture precise; I’m guessing at one time he was a force to be reckoned with.

The man in the red jacket appears to be unconcerned about his time.  His focus is on the path in front of him and nothing else.

This morning, the man in the red jacket was in my neighborhood.  I passed him in my Ford Focus and our eyes met for a second.  We exchanged a cordial wave.

I know this is odd, but in that brief moment of connecting, I felt hope.

As a woman who found solace in the pounding of the pavement for many years, the discipline and dedication of a silver haired gentleman reminded me of the joy and freedom I, too, had experienced as a pavement pounder.

I would run when I was happy, sad, confused, stressed, anxious or for no reason at all.  After I reached the point of physical exhaustion, the end of my own resources, in raw weakness I would often hear His voice.  Sometimes His voice was so clear that the sheer weight of His presence would stop me dead in my tracks.

The man in the red jacket symbolizes the ability to remember the past without still attempting to live there; the ability to accept one’s present set of circumstances with all the grace and ease possible.  A realization that we need to neither forget nor hold onto the past as it has helped to shape the present yet does not necessarily negate the future.

Each time I spot this man, I am inspired.  Somehow his quiet resilience gives hope to derailed dreams and unmet expectations.  A good running coach drills one unbendable rule  into the head and heart of a runner: “never, never, never look back.”  The man in the red jacket seems to be living by this rule; embracing his present season of life one slow hill at a time.

If you are going through a time of disenchantment, a season of realizing lost dreams and weighty disappointments I pray you will be encouraged by the strength of another.  Take a slow look around, wherever God has placed you, and allow your Maker to show you something that resonates with the person He has made you to be.  Be inspired.  

And remember, you may unwittingly be the person who inspires another.  Just keep moving forward at whatever pace you can muster and never, never, never look back.

Stay the Course…

Sheila

I Am The Problem

Turning the corner on the half-century mark of my life is proving to be quite interesting.

Just as we watch our children grow and mature into the man or woman God created them to become; there comes a time in each one of our lives when we, too, are able to take a look at ourselves through a different lens.

The lens is proving to be painfully honest.

It is mostly in the still of the morning, when I am alone, that I am able to catch a glimpse of the me that I want to be; she is usually wrestling with the me that I am.  

Singing songs of worship, sharing my thoughts, complaints and concerns to my Father—this is how I often start my mornings.  However, it is in the being still and listening that He graciously adjusts the lens of my perspective.  These days I am deeply humbled as He is showing me that perhaps, just maybe, I am the problem.

In the silence He reveals to me that those things in my world which I cannot change are not the problem.

World views, church views, my views; issues that provoke strong emotion within—they are not the problem.

I am the problem when my lack of trust in God or my strong need to be right causes me to raise the flag of self-righteousness as I dig heels deep into the soil of rebellion.  For no necessary reason, other than pride, there lies within me a desire to prove something to someone; even if that someone is just me.  

However, something strange has been happening as of late that is becoming a game changer for this (almost) half-century chic.

I believe that the Spirit within me has proven over the years to be a voice of wisdom and truth, deserving of my full attention.  As I am learning to put my own thoughts and world solutions aside, the Spirit is teaching me that the only One able to bring change does not need my help.  He is in control, I am not.  Instead of believing that there are problems that I must fix; He is teaching me that unless He asks me to do something—I may potentially become part of the problem, not the solution.

The view from my new lens with which I am becoming familiar with has me in awe and wonder.  As I go about my day, I am able to behold His beauty in all that I see and touch.  The need to be seen or heard is diminishing as the desire to simply be in awe of the Creator and His creation has turned my lens upward to behold the Lamb.

I am finding great peace and unexplainable joy in placing my trust in God instead of in my circumstances or in myself.

No need to worry or fret over the view that tomorrow’s lens may bring—I am not in control.  If I am not in control, I am free to become a part of the solution instead of part of the problem.

From time to time when I feel my heart racing and my perspective becomes blurry, I slow myself down. As I intentionally set aside time to withdraw to the place where He is waiting, I kneel before the One who holds the solution to every problem—the One who holds me.

Stay the Course…

Sheila