Category Archives: friendship

worn out to wearable . . .

“There’s something in there, Elaine. I’m not quite sure what ‘it’ is, but there’s something in there.”

So says my artist friend while staring at a pile of scraps in her attic sanctuary. To the casual onlooker, those scraps don’t look like much. Just a pile of colorful leftovers—cast-offs from somebody’s closet and the thrift store down the road. I cannot see what she sees on the front side of her creating. I can only be thankful for her visioning that leads to a finished product that is both beautiful and functional.

A recycled masterpiece!

In wearing her treasures across my body, I carry history into the present. Threads of yesterday are delicately woven into a tapestry that tells a story. My story.

Scraps to salvaged. Parts to whole. Old to new. Worn out to wearable.

Yes, this is my story. And all it took was the visioning of the Artist to see what I couldn’t see. To imagine what I couldn’t imagine. To pause before the scrap heap and to say,

“There’s something in there. I’m not quite sure what ‘it’ is, but there’s something in there.”

A functioning something. A beautiful something. A recycled masterpiece fashioned by the Master, pieced and woven tightly together by threads of sacred love. History into the present . . . a lot of times past that count toward tomorrow.

So here I am – a garment comprised of yesterday’s scraps, sewn up with a lot of grace-splashes. And it works. I work because I am his work. There simply isn’t any other reasonable explanation for how this is all turning out so well – my life.

How grateful I am for the quiet pauses in a day that lend themselves to creativity. To climb the attic stairs and to imagine through to the other side of the scrap heap. To house (even if just a little) the creative pulse of the Creator within me. To have the light coming through the window to crystallize and clarify the blueprint. To remind me when I so often forget that …

“There’s something in there.”

There is something in there, friends. A holy something. A God something. Whether you’re staring at a scrap pile in the mirror today or whether your work is on the table awaiting a hem line, there’s something in there. The Artist has his eyes on you, and he’s working with the end product in mind.

What you’ve yet to see, he has already seen. What you cannot imagine, he has already imagined. His visioning is holier than yours and his patience enduring. The word on the street is you’re going to be a masterpiece. In the Master’s hands, how could you be anything but? Trust him with and for the finishing details. Give him your scraps and watch him create.

Grace looks beautiful on you, friends. As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

PS: If you’d like to learn more about the artist, Lisa Dixon, and how you might secure one of her valuable treasures, please visit her Etsy sight by clicking here . What’s your favorite item? Let me know in a comment, and I’ll enter your name into a drawing to win a secret treasure from her stash. You can also find Lisa on facebook by clicking here.

the reach and welcome of love …

 

My heart is tender toward her tonight – the new girl who showed up at our summer kick-off, Wednesday night fellowships at the pool. She was easy to spot, stuck there at a table of men who out-aged her by at least fifty years. Talk about awkward. When I asked her who she was and how it was that she came to be in our midst, she simply replied, “Mr. Bill invited me.”

I chuckled, while pointing out the retired, elderly minister who fellowships in our midst, and asked her, “That Mr. Bill?”

“No, the preacher man named Mr. Bill.”

“Oh that Bill! He’s my Bill. You can call him Billy.”

And so the conversation began between us. Curious to know how she and my Billy got connected, I learned that this rising, eighth grader was one of the participants in a mentoring encounter our congregation sponsors with local middle-schoolers. A banquet was held in their honor last week, and Preacher Billy invited all the kids to come and be part of our Wednesday night fellowships by the pool.

Bravely she came; bravely she remained despite her odd seating arrangement during the dinner hour. If I had been her, I would have bolted at the first opportunity, texting my mom to quickly come and rescue me from the awkwardness. Instead she waited it out, and my heart broke with the waiting.

Waiting for someone to notice her.
Waiting for someone her age to come around and invite her to join in the fun.
Waiting for the newness to not feel so new to her but, instead, to feel a little bit normal.

I’m not much of a waiter, so after a painful hour of watching this scene play out, I gathered a couple of other women, and together, we coaxed our visitor down to the pool area and implored a few kids to come and offer their greetings. Before long, my new friend was splashing in the pool and, hopefully, feeling better about having taken the preacher man up on his invitation.

Not long after that, her mother arrived to pick her up; I was able to sneak in a quick handshake before their departure, wishing for more time and for a better way of extending the reach and welcome of love to strangers. It’s a haunting ache that has stayed with me all evening. My heart has always been tender toward those who sit on the fringes, the ones overlooked and often ignored. I’m fighting another feeling tonight as well – annoyance.

Why are kids so slow to recognize strangers in their midst? Why not the reach and welcome of love? Why isolate them rather than include them? Are their senses so dulled not to notice the need or are they so self-absorbed that to notice would require too much of them? Where’s the kindness we so boldly proclaim and yet, sometimes, so pitifully live?

I know it sounds harsh; it is harsh. But it’s true . . . across the board, whether teenagers or adults. Why do we bunch up instead of branch out? We are the church – the body of Christ, a group of believers who boldly claim the name of our Lord as our identity . . . Christians. Little Christs. For heaven’s sake . . . really for the sake of heaven . . . when are we going to start acting like him? When are we going to start reaching out instead of always living in?

I’m tired of playing church. That’s not my game. Instead, I want to live Jesus and give Jesus so that no one ever sits on the fringes, feeling unloved, unwelcomed, unnoticed. Perhaps I am tender to this, because like my new friend, I have sat where she sat tonight . . . many times – just wanting to be noticed, to be “in” instead of feeling so very “out.”

Oh could we just live it better, friends? Just look away from the mirror long enough to notice the new faces around us? Just speak some Jesus words of grace and interest into the lives of those who sit within arm’s reach? It doesn’t take much to make a heart smile and to warm up to the idea of friendship. It just takes some willingness on our parts and some training of our hearts to fully understand the kingdom impact of the reach and welcome of love.

Two thousand years ago, my Jesus stood on a hillside, extending the reach and welcome of love through his blood-stained hands. He noticed me then; he notices me still; he notices us all. Why? Because it’s in his heart to make sure that we’re all “in” instead of living as outsiders.

Christ is the way in. A heart shaped by this truth will never forsake the outsider. Instead, a heart shaped by the reach and welcome of Calvary’s love will live accordingly.

Reaching. Welcoming. And loving a new friend all the way home to Jesus.

No longer a stranger on the fringes but, instead, one of the family.

This is my gospel. This is my Jesus. This is the servant I want to be.

So be it. Amen.

on starting the God-conversation

 

A few things occur to me this morning while reading Luke’s account of “Jesus sending out the seventy-two” (Luke 10:1-24). In particular, I’m focusing on two sentiments/phrases that Jesus instructed his disciples to use in their evangelism campaigns. What strikes me is their simplicity, while at the same time their capacity for profound, kingdom results. Those phrases …

1 – “Peace to this house.”
2 – “The kingdom of God is near you.”

And here’s my thought as it pertains to my evangelism campaign, maybe even yours. Wherever your feet take you today, whatever group you wander into (either by accident on through intention), whether he or she is a stranger or friend, why not start the God-conversation with a little, “Peace to this house” followed up by a little, “The kingdom of God is near you.” It might flow a little differently than that. Maybe something along the lines of:

1 – “Peace; God is near.” or
2 – “Peace out, peace in. Peace here, peace near. Peace everywhere.” or
3 – “Peace. God. Now.”

Words like that. Words that are reliable. Words that are true. Peace is here, because God is near. And wherever God is, his kingdom follows alongside. How do I know? Because he said so.

Once having been asked by the Pharisees when the kingdom of God would come, Jesus replied, “The kingdom of God does not come with your careful observation, nor will people say, ‘Here it is,’ or ‘There it is,’ because the kingdom of God is within you.” –Luke 17:10 (emphasis mine)

If you are a disciple of Jesus Christ, then you carry the kingdom of God with you wherever you go. Why not speak a little peace and a little kingdom into the hearts of those within arm’s reach today? It certainly would be an interesting way to start the God-conversation. It might even be effective.

Peace out, peace in. Peace here, peace near. Blessed Peace in and for our journeys, everywhere. I’ll meet you on the road!


living the “get-to” life …

We sat on his front porch talking about this-and-that while relishing Saturday’s break in temperature. The wind kindly caressed our conversation. It was a beautiful gift—the weather and the fellowship.

I haven’t always been good at my relishing, especially when life is crowded. There are times in my day (many moments of prolonged dreaming), when I consider what it would be like to continually hold moments like Saturday’s pause. To slow life’s pace and live God’s grace as it arrives.

Have you ever wanted to just stop at that place, jump into a peace-scene and linger there without constraint? Strip away all the must-dos and, instead, tarry in the get-tos? Me too. And here is what I’m realizing about my life.

The get-tos are becoming more habitual; the must-dos less demanding. This is my time to pause. There are ample opportunities to do so.

I get to linger on front porches.

I get to take long walks and make new friends.

I get to study the feeding habits of our neighborhood herons.

I get to watch my children learn the stuff I don’t remember learning in the 6th and 7th grade.

I get to take my time at the grocery, searching out bargains and counting on familiar faces.

I get to read the newspaper.

I get to spend uninterrupted time in prayer.

I get to order my days rather than having my days order me.

The list is endless. It’s not that these get-tos haven’t been mine all along. It’s just that I’m more willing to entreat them. Make room for them. Insist on them.

This is my life. No more fantasizing about what I might do should life slow down. Life did slow down. Life is slowing down. And I am winding down. Not because I must-do, but rather because I get-to.

Oh how sweet the pace of a get-to life! I’m not sure we can rush this one, friends … force the get-to life. It’s been evolving in me over these past few years. I don’t have a clever plan for rushing you to your get-to. Perhaps just thinking about it today might create a little space in your heart for its arrival.

Perhaps.

My heart is with you. You know that, right? You are one of my get-tos, and it is always my hope that these ramblings inside of my head might resonate with one inside of yours. That God would continue to use my inconsistent and unscheduled pen to bring a little peace to your day. A must-do or a get-to. I don’t know how I rank on your list, but either way, I am exceedingly grateful that you’re here.

Thank you for stopping by and sitting on my front porch for a while. May God’s goodness and grace be evident to you as you marshal through your must dos, all the while reminding you of the privilege of your get-tos. As always …

Peace for the journey,

Porch Photo Credit: Susan Hood Photography

Welcomed

 

“Well hello, Asa. Nice to meet you. Welcome to my home.”

Her voice radiated joy from the front porch where she welcomed her guests. It spilled over onto the street where I was walking. Joy does that. When a heart is filled to overflow, it spills over into the lives of those close enough to catch it, even the unintended. I wasn’t on her guest list that afternoon; still and yet, I felt her warm embrace as she hugged young Asa, wrapping him up in loving arms and holding him close to her bosom. I smiled, looked in her direction, and caught her eye. For a moment, I thought I might make the guest list; she seemed the type of person to take a risk on loving a total stranger. Instead, we exchanged waves, and I felt richly blessed for having been privy to this front-porch welcome.

It’s good to be welcomed, to be celebrated on the front porch of a heart and invited in for a look around. It’s a gift we give to one another, a grace we live with one another. Life is sweetest when life is shared. Those who give it best—those who throw doors and hearts wide-open to welcome new guests—are those who’ve known it the most, a long history of being welcomed by others.

I’ve spent a lifetime on the move. Really. Spaces and places too numerous to count. Settings and groups and small collections of strangers and friends that, on paper, don’t mesh with any regularity. I’ve stood on a lot of front porches, knocked on a lot of front doors, and had (for the most part) the rich privilege of stepping into a lot of different living rooms . . . a great many hearts. Certainly, I’ve had the door slammed in my face on a few occasions. Front porches aren’t always welcoming places. But regardless of the doors that remain shut to me, I’ll keep knocking, keep hoping for an invitation. Why?

Because when it happens—when another soul swings wide-open and allows me a chair around the table—I feel the welcome of heaven. I hear the whispers of home. I touch the heart of my Father. His welcome gets personal when he welcomes through his children.

A front porch welcome. This is love concrete. This is love tangible. This is love actual.

It’s a way we can love today, a way to bring a little heaven down to earth, bridging the gap between what is not yet seen and what is seen every day. People, strangers and friends, waiting … longing for the welcome of heaven. Why would we neglect to give it to them? Why would we keep such treasure to ourselves? Why not, instead, fling the doors wide-open, step across the threshold of our hearts, and shout to those walking by,

“Hello! Nice to meet you. Welcome to my home.”

Oh to live like this! To give like this! To love like this!

To welcome and to be welcomed. This is our kingdom work. This is our kingdom to come.

Keep to it, sojourners in grace. My door is open, and my love for you is certain. Welcome to my home. Won’t you come in and sit with me a while? As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

 

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