The Deep End of the Pool

Have You Read Any Good Books Lately?

Books have played a significant part in my life. From an early age, my mother read to me. When I was old enough to read myself, I immersed myself in books. I read both the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys series. I read The Bobbsey Twin series that I found on the bookshelf in my grandmother’s upstairs bedroom. I read classics and romance novels. I read anything I could get my hands on. But my absolute favorite genre as a child was fiction. When I picked up a book, I didn’t just read it. I became a part of it. Reality would fall away, and I could literally envision myself as a character in whatever book I was reading. When I read, I had such laser focus on the story that I did not hear when my mother would call me for dinner, or when she would enter the room to inform me it was bedtime. One of my very favorite books as a child, which I discovered when I checked it out at the elementary school library, was “A Wrinkle in Time”, by Madeleine L ’Engle. My imagination went wild as I followed Meg and the other characters of this Newberry Award Winning book as they engaged in the quintessential good vs evil fight to save Meg’s father and the entire universe. If you have seen the movie but you haven’t read the book, do yourself a favor and read it. You won’t be sorry.

A few weeks ago, while working on my mom’s house with my siblings, my brother found an old children’s book called, “Little Mommy”. He held it up and said, “Does anyone remember this book?” I responded, “Does the first page say, ‘This is my house and I am the Mommy. My children are Annabelle, Betsey and Bonnie. They are good little children and do just as I say. I put on their coats and they go out to play?’” My brother looked at my sister and looked back down at the book. Shrugging his shoulders, he handed it to me, saying, “Here. I think you should take this one home with you.” This book is a treasure. My mom read it to me so much that I had it memorized BEFORE I could read it. I would then line up my babies and “read” the book to them, too.

As I have gotten older, my taste in books has expanded. I still love fiction. But I love other genres, too. Because I know that there are other bookworms out there, I thought it would be fun to share some of my recent favorites. Several of these are autobiographies and non-fiction. Some are by secular authors and some are by faith-based authors. Believe me! I am just as shocked as you that these books made my list. But they are all great for different reasons and are worthy of a mention.

“Wildflower”, by Drew Barrymore

I’ve just always really had an affinity for Drew because of her movies, and because of my exposure to her via social media as a mom and an overall seemingly nice person. Her book did not disappoint. Her childhood was less than traditional in all the worst ways. Steven Spielberg is her godfather, and she is now a single mom who is not only raising two girls but is producing movies and building a makeup empire. She is upbeat and positive, and I want to be her “for real” friend.

“Mrs. Kennedy and Me” and “Five Presidents”, by Clint Hill

Clint Hill worked for the secret service, protecting five presidents – Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon and Ford. Do you remember the photo in Dallas of the secret service agent climbing onto the back of the car to shield the injured President Kennedy and the first lady from future bullets? That person is Mr. Hill. His unique perspective of each president and the world events during each president’s terms in office is eye-opening and poignant. All of his books are good, but Mrs. Kennedy and Me is my favorite.

“Chase the Lion” and “The Circle Maker”, by Mark Batterson

Mark Batterson is a best-selling author and the pastor at National Community church in Washington D.C. His church is highly regarded nationally for its innovation and influence. For several years, their church service was held in a movie theatre that they rented. Can you imagine smelling buttered movie popcorn and having it remind you of church?

In The Circle Maker, Mr. Batterson shares the story of a first century Jewish man and scholar named Honi who, during a time of drought, drew a circle around himself in the dirt. Honi told God that he would not move from that circle until the rain came. You will have to read the book to find out what happens next.

Chase the Lion is a book based on an obscure verse in II Samuel 23 where a warrior named Benaiah, on a snowy day, chases a lion into a pit and kills it. Its hard to imagine how an author could write an entire book about this event. Mark does it, and the result is both inspiring and hopeful.

“Love Does” and “Everybody Always”, by Bob Goff

I was privileged to hear Bob Goff speak in person once. I can honestly say I have never met anyone like him. He is an attorney by education but has been gifted to see the world how it could be, not how it is. He doesn’t take “No” for an answer. He is changing the world by going to the places where many people are too frightened to go. Uganda is a good example. Bob learned that children were being kidnapped there, mutilated and killed by witch doctors in the area. So, he did what every normal person would do, right? Wrong! He called a meeting with the witch doctors. He offered to open a school where they could receive an education. The catch? They had to leave the children alone. Those colorful dots on the cover of the Everybody Always book cover? Those are fingerprints of the witch doctors in Uganda. Do you think love can’t change the world? Read these two books, and then think again.

The Bible

OK, Campers! I have saved my very favorite for last. The most read book in the world, The Bible, is my absolute favorite of all time. In the last year, I have fallen in love with this book all over again. A little over a year ago, I was challenged to read the bible from front to back. Yesterday, I finished that read through. I was so happy that I had finished. But I was sad, too. Truth be told, I had never read the Bible straight though before. I had read it in a more topical way. Or I had read favorite books repeatedly. I had spent a whole lot of time in the New Testament, Psalms and Proverbs. I had absolutely no idea that this book makes so much more sense when you read it like a book, from beginning to end. So, I just have one question. Why didn’t someone tell me to read it this way before?

This book is loaded with everything that makes a book exciting:

The sun standing still until a battle is won
Creation of the Universe
Family Dysfunction
Romance, Weddings and unfaithful spouses
Murder
Talking donkeys – Shrek does not own the market on this dramatic device
Giants
Sword fights
A Dragon
A Shepherd-turned-king
A virgin birth
Angels and Demons
A chariot of fire
Poetry that captures every possible human emotion
Martyrs
Visions
God speaking in thunder and in a whisper
People sawed in half
Locusts for dinner
Waters parting to allow for a speedy escape
A well-fortified city falling with no shots fired – just trumpets blowing and people shouting
Multiple people coming back from death to life– Jesus, Lazarus, Jairus’ daughter
Arguments among the people of The Way
The formation of the church – (referring to a movement or congregation, not a building)
Speaking in languages not previously known so people of other nationalities can hear the truth
Miracles galore
Jesus’ ascension

In the Old Testament, I read again the story of God calling Abraham, an old and childless husband of Sarah, to become the Father of the Jewish people. I celebrated when Isaac was born.

I marveled in Leviticus with how detailed God was in terms of the best way to set-up camp, what to eat, and even where to put the bathroom in the camp. I smiled as God described all the many festivals that his people would attend. God likes a good party.

I appreciated the direction that God gave his people as they put together the tent that would become the tabernacle, direction that included such minute details as the color of thread to use. I loved that God’s glory filled that tabernacle. God loved the Israelites so much that he lived In the desert with them in a tent they built for him.

And so there wasn’t bickering, he told each tribe where to set up camp around that tabernacle. The tribe of Judah, by God’s instruction, set up at the end by the main entrance. You basically had to go through the tribe of Judah to get to the entryway. Jesus’ bloodline came from the tribe of Judah. Because of him, we can have access to God, the Father. I don’t think that is coincidence, do you?

In full transparency, I stalled a little when I got to the prophets. It really helped me to learn that there are 3 types of prophets: Those who prophesied before the Israeli exile. Those who prophesied during the Israeli exile, and those who prophesied after the exile. Understanding which type of prophet I was reading helped me understand what they were saying a little more clearly.

There were 400 years between the old testament and the new testament. There were no prophets who provided a written word from God during that time. What a long 400 years that must have been for God’s people.

The gospels come alive when you have the history of God’s people ingrained in your mind from the previous books in the old testament. Finally, in Acts, when Cornelius the Centurion had a vision that he needed to send for a man named Simon Peter, I began to get really excited. When Peter came, he was dubious at first. Cornelius wasn’t Jewish, and technically, Peter shouldn’t have even entered his home. But he shared the gospel at Cornelius’ request, and everyone in that house became believers…. the first “gentile” (non-Jewish) believers. This event cascaded into a lifelong ministry for Peter as he shared The Way with gentiles everywhere. (This is one place where I sincerely wanted to cheer when I read it. Why? Because we finally got to the part in the story where they were talking about ME!)

What follows next are many letters to the churches in the surrounding areas to provide instruction, clarification, encouragement, and even discipline to the fledgling congregations.

The Bible ends with the book of Revelation. Much of it is written in metaphors that can be difficult to understand. But it is the one book in the bible that offers a blessing to both the person who reads it and the person who hears that reading.

So, what’s next for me? I think I am going to read the bible straight through again. I might do that via the audio version this time. Once you get started, it really is a book that is hard to put down.

Kristi McLelland said, “The Bible isn’t only the best story ever told. It is also the truest.” Having just finished this number one, all-time best seller, I believe that statement now more than ever.

What about you? Have you read any good books lately?

Orphan No More

My family was a traditional one. I grew up in a small town, the oldest of three kids. My mom and dad were married when mom was 18 and dad was 21-years-old. Dad worked with his hands as a tile-setter and a carpenter. Mom worked in an office. Their first pregnancy ended in miscarriage, so when mom became pregnant with me, Dad insisted she quit work to decrease stress that may adversely impact the pregnancy. Nine months later, I was born. By the time I was 4 ½ years old, my parents had three kids – me, my 2-year-old brother, and my newborn sister. The decision for mom to become a stay-at-home mom impacted our family’s finances significantly. We relied on hand-me-down clothes, and do-it-yourself haircuts. We grew food in our garden and ate “organic” food way before organic food was cool. I didn’t know my parents struggled. They made us feel rich. Our days were filled with playing outside until it was dark, sit-down dinners, catching fireflies, eating watermelon on the back step while the juice dripped off our elbows, late-night bath time and cozy goodnight rituals. I thought everyone’s family was just like mine.

Stairstep siblings – I think I was 10 or 11 in this photo

Family meant living within walking distance of our aunts, uncles and grandparents. It meant regularly getting together with the extended family, with cousins spilling out into the yard because the house couldn’t hold us all. Family meant belonging, feeling safe with my people, feeling protected, and having all the rights and privileges of our large clan.

July 2019 – The sibs and our families got together to celebrate my brother-in-law’s first solo art exhibition of his mosaic artwork. Bring on the family. Bring on the fun.

When the Music Man and I married, we knew we wanted to have children. However, due to me having some medical issues, we were uncertain if we would be able to have homegrown children of our own. We decided very early that we wanted to add to our family through adoption. We had watched a documentary on the plight of children in China. Tens of thousands of baby girls were being killed or abandoned annually in that country simply because of their gender. In China, due to the “one child per family” policy that was strictly enforced, having a son was highly prized. Sons were responsible to take care of their aging parents. Conversely, once a daughter married, she became part of her husband’s family, helping her husband take care of his aging parents. So, for years grieving Chinese families made the horrific decision to abandon these baby girls with the hopes of having a son. When found, these baby girls were sent to Social Welfare Institutions, China’s name for orphanages.

God showed the Music Man and I favor, gifting us with the ability to have two homegrown children. But we knew our family wasn’t complete. Not yet. We just knew our third child was waiting for us in China. So, when we were ready to add child #3 to our crazy family, we began the adoption process.

To be clear, no one in either of our families had ever adopted a child. This journey we were undertaking was uncharted territory for us. We had no idea what we were doing or how it would turn out. We simply said “Yes” when the Spirit of adoption called our names.

Looking back to Q’s “Gotcha Day”, which is the term we affectionately use to refer to the day in China that she was placed in our arms, there were so many thoughts and emotions bombarding us and the other eight families from our agency who were also adopting girls from the same orphanage. There was excitement, fear, and joy. There was so much joy. This little person, who just 5 minutes before had the title of “orphan”, immediately became so much more as we wrapped our arms around her. No longer an orphan, now she was called “forever daughter”, “sister”, “granddaughter” and “niece”. She was called “chosen” and “cherished”. In that moment, her last name became “Nason”, with all the rights and privileges that went along with that name. Adoption became a tangible miracle that day in the life of my newly minted daughter, and in the heart of this grateful momma.

This is Q, a few years after she joined our family.

You see, I had heard for most of my life that when we decide to follow Jesus and live for him, that God adopts us into His family, with all the rights and privileges of one of His children. We become not only sons and daughters, but joint-heirs with Jesus. Those sounded like pretty words until I experienced the gift of adoption first-hand in my little family. Suddenly those words came alive with such clarity. That day in China, Q didn’t become our ‘adopted’ daughter. She became our daughter. My love for her is no different than if I had birthed her myself.

God, our Father in Heaven, feels the same way about us. When we make the decision to follow Jesus, God sees us as His kids, and loves us that way too. Galatians 4:5 says, “You can tell for sure that you are now fully adopted as His own children because God sent the Spirit of His Son into our lives crying out, “Papa! Father!” Doesn’t that privilege of intimate conversation with God make it plain that you are not a slave, but a child? And if you are a child, you’re also an heir, with complete access to the inheritance.” The Message

I heard some staggering statistics recently:

There are 100,000 children in the U.S. foster system who are free to be adopted.
There are 400,000 churches in the U.S.
If one family out of every four churches would adopt one of these children, then all available-to-adopt children in the foster system would have a forever family.

I get excited when I hear these types of statistics. Why? Because meeting the needs of these vulnerable kids is a solvable problem.

A lazy Saturday conversation with the family cat, Duma.

Maybe you didn’t grow up with a positive family experience. Maybe your story is very much different than mine. Maybe you are considering adoption. Maybe you were adopted. Maybe you birthed a child and made the decision to have that child raised by another family. Maybe you struggle with infertility. Maybe you have made the decision to not have children. Maybe you are longing to feel chosen and cherished, a son or daughter of the King.

Be encouraged. You are loved more than you will ever know.

What’s Your Name?

Last Saturday morning I took a trip to the nail salon. Deciding to treat myself to both a manicure and a pedicure, I chose a bright pink color for my toes. But I was unsure as to what color polish to put on my fingernails. Finally, I glanced to my right at the woman’s hands next to me. Her technician was finishing her nails and they looked so pretty… soft, white nails with just a hint of pink. “I want that color,” I said to my technician, Gon, as I gestured towards my neighbor’s almost-dry nails. As he began the process of prepping my nails, I asked him the name of the polish color. “Funny Bunny,” he replied.

The infamous “Funny Bunny” nail color mentioned above.

Funny Bunny. That name holds special meaning for me. Several years ago, as a newlywed in Tucson, Arizona, I took a RN job at a community mental health outpatient clinic. I was the team nurse for a group of mental health professionals who oversaw the care of almost 250 severely and persistently mentally ill individuals living in Tucson. I loved that job. You know those disheveled people you pass on the street of a big city? The ones who are speaking out loud to no one in particular? The ones that people walk around with a wide berth because they don’t look or act like everyone else? The ones the collective “we” assume are probably dangerous? Well, I knew their names, and they knew mine.

The first time the Music Man and I were approached downtown by one of my patients, who ran up to me from across the street while smiling and yelling “Nurse Lori! Nurse Lori!” before hugging me tightly, I thought the Music Man would faint. One of my patients, I’ll call him Billy, loved to sing. If he was singing, I knew he was OK. When the singing stopped, our team knew it was time for him to be hospitalized.

I took care of one very challenging patient during this season of my career. This young man had been diagnosed with schizophrenia. He was attached to reality by a very fragile thread. Delusions and psychosis were his baseline, and his bizarre appearance, behavior and communication style made living in the community a challenge for him. This young man had a real, legal name. But when he would call me on the phone and I would ask who was calling, the name he would respond with was Funny Bunny. The voices in his head would lie to him about his name, and he would believe the voices instead of what he knew to be true.

I never called him by the name, Funny Bunny. I called him by his real name, and he would either ignore my efforts to ground him in reality, or he would smile. He was a guitar player and spoke of being famous. (I eventually learned he really was famous in Europe. But that is a story for another time.) Once, after scraping some money together, he recorded one of his original songs and had a small number of 45-speed records pressed for him to distribute. He sold me one for $1.00. As I was reading his thank you’s on the cheap, paper record cover, I noticed my name, “Nurse Lori”, sandwiched between thank you’s to his psychiatrist’s, Prolixin (one of his anti-psychotic medications) and Paul McCartney. 😊

Sometimes I am like this young man. I have listened to the voices of life and believed the names that these voices scream in my direction. When my dad died, the only parent I had, because of my mom’s dementia, who knew my name, the voices told me my name was “Orphan”. When struggling with anxiety during the Music Man’s illness, the voices told me my name was “Weak”. When feeling like I was failing to adequately juggle work, parenting and marriage successfully, the voices told me my name was “Failure.”

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name. You are mine.”
Isaiah 43:1b (NIV)

Over the last several months, I have begun to seek to understand the names that God calls me. I want to tether myself tightly to that reality, not the lying, negative voices of life that can scream other names in my direction. Isaiah 43:1b says, “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name. You are mine.” In the bible, it is revealed repeatedly that your name casts the vision for your life.

Some of the names God calls me (and you) are:

Sons and daughters
Beloved
Chosen
Friend
Precious
Honored
Bride
Dearest One
Masterpiece

He calls you…beloved, heir, the apple of his eye…

It doesn’t matter what name you have gone by in the past. Or what lies you have believed in the past about who you are. God’s names for us supersede them all. Sometimes God even changes our name. You can be sure of one thing. When God changes your name, He changes your destiny. Consider these examples of some of the individuals in the bible who received a new name from God.

Abram, his name meant (“father”) became Abraham (“father of many”). Well past the age of child-bearing, as was his wife, God told Abraham that his wife would conceive a child. In Genesis 26 God promises Abraham that his “descendants would be as numerous at the stars in the sky”. That’s quite a promise for a couple who struggled with infertility their entire marriage. *NIV version
Sarai (her name meant “argumentative”) was Abraham’s wife. God changed her name to Sarah (which means “princess”). She became the son of Isaac after growing old believing she would never be a mother.
Jacob (his name meant “deceiver”), in the ultimate do-over, became Israel (“One who struggles with God and man and overcomes”). God prized this name and the man He gave the name to so much that Israel became the name of not just a person, but also a people and a nation! What a perfect example of the transforming power of God when He gives us a new name.
Simon (his name meant “He has heard”) was an impetuous coward. Prior to Jesus’ crucifixion and in fear for his own life, he denied three times even knowing Jesus. Jesus renamed him Peter, explaining upon this (Rock), He would build His church. Peter died by crucifixion, too. But he was crucified upside down at his request because he did not feel worthy to die the exact same way that Jesus did.

Four different individuals. Four new names. Four redemptive stories.

Ask yourself these questions. Are my inner thoughts and outward actions in line with who God says I am? Do I live each day in freedom because of who I am and whose I am? Understanding our name and identity, our true identity, will radically change how we see ourselves and how we live.

What voices are you listening to? I hope you take the time to ponder the names that God has assigned to you. His name(s) will perfectly describe who you really are. Stop listening to the other voices. Walk in freedom, shoulders back, head held high, sons and daughters of the King.

What’s your name?

Nothing But Blue Skies

I love storms. I always have. I remember as a child sitting on my grandmother’s front porch as a storm would roll in. Years ago, we didn’t have weather radar and storm warning systems in place. We just watched the sky to alert us that a storm was on the horizon.

Have you ever thought about the anatomy of a storm? What gives it power? In Tennessee, where I live now, most storms occur in the spring and summer months. Fueled by warm air and moisture, clouds form and storms result. Add in cold air from the upper atmosphere, allowing the cold air and warm air to collide, and you occasionally run the risk of severe storms like tornadoes.

The weather situation in Nashville in 2017 as a result of Hurricane Harvey

But back on my grandma’s porch, I didn’t know or care about how storms worked. I just loved sitting next to my grandmother, enjoying the sweet aroma of the rain hitting the earth. We marveled at nature’s fireworks as lightning would streak across the sky. We would count how many seconds passed between the time the lightning flashed and the thunder would sound. We would jump and giggle when the lightning and thunder would occur simultaneously.

I remember lying in my bed, tucked in for the night at home, and feeling unafraid during storms. My childhood innocence allowed me to feel safe under the covers, certain that the storm outside my window would stay right where it was supposed to be…outside.

On the rare occasion when the storms would worsen, my parents would march us down the stairs to the basement to ride out the wind and the rain. I never remember feeling afraid, only safe in the refuge of the basement, in the presence of my parents who loved me and were watching over me.

This is a tree in my mom’s front yard. It looks like the photo was taken during a foggy morning. But I took this photo a few weeks ago during an unusually hard, springtime rain and thunderstorm. The rain came so hard that it made seeing the end of mom’s gravel lane a challenge.

I’m an adult now and storms still come. Some are actually weather-related storms. I still don’t mind these storms even though I no longer have a basement at my disposal. Other storms I’ve faced since entering adulthood are life storms. These life storms are the really scary ones. Health scares, financial challenges, loss of friendships, jobs, and family members all blow into our lives with the velocity and strength of a dangerous whirlwind. Sometimes we see the storm coming and can prepare. Sometimes the storm comes out of nowhere, catching us off-guard and shaking us to the core.

We can’t escape these types of storms by retreating to a basement. So where can we hide and seek shelter? Psalm 91 has been such a comfort to me when I find myself in the middle of these storms. It reads, “This I declare about the Lord: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; he is my God, and I trust him.”

We really can trust God, you know. The gospels talk about a time that Jesus was riding in a boat on a lake with some of his friends he called disciples. He was tired from teaching and healing the crowds of people who followed him everywhere he went. So he fell asleep. While he was sleeping, a storm blew in over the lake that scared his friends to death. They actually thought they were going to drown. So they woke Jesus up. Jesus spoke out, and rebuked the storm. Immediately all was calm. Luke 8:25 says, “The disciples were terrified and amazed. ‘Who is this man?’ they asked each other. ‘When he gives a command, even the winds and the waves obey him.’”

Realizing that God is our refuge should elicit the same emotions in us that the disciples felt about Jesus. When we are in his presence, it is appropriate and right that we would feel both terrified and amazed. We feel terrified because we are interacting with the creator of the universe. We feel amazed because that very creator of everything, including us, wants to be intimately and personally involved in our lives.

“Whether or not storms come, we can not choose. But where we stare during a storm, that we can.”
Max Lucado

But being in a relationship with God does not guarantee a life of sunshine and clear sailing. I have learned that lesson all too well. (If you are new to this blog, check out a previous post entitled “Pancho and Lefty: A Warrior’s Tale” for more details ) There is a popular song that addresses this exact topic. It’s called “Sometimes He Calms the Storm.” That’s what we all want, isn’t it? For life’s storms to go away? The song lyrics go on to say that when the storms are raging, sometimes “He calms his child” instead of the storm. With this outcome, we are given the opportunity to grow in our faith…conquering our fears as we look our storms squarely in the eye.

A man by the name of Horatio Stafford wrote a very famous song. That song is a hymn that has been sung in churches by millions of people over many, many years. The name of that hymn? “It is Well with my Soul.” Stafford weathered may storms throughout his life. He lost his son when he was only two-years old. He faced financial ruin during the famous Chicago fire. Later, after planning a trip to Europe, he sent his wife and 4 daughters ahead of him by ship, with plans to meet up with them later. The ship sank and all four of his daughters tragically lost their lives. He learned of the accident after receiving a telegraph from his wife explaining that she was the lone survivor of the family. Traveling by ship to meet his wife, and filled with the sadness of a grieving father, Stafford was informed when the ship reached the spot where the lives of his daughters were lost. It was during that time of looking out over the water that he penned the words to that age old hymn.

“When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll.
Whatever my lot, though hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
Lyrics by Horatio G. Stafford

I want to be like Mr. Stafford, don’t you? No matter what storm life may throw at me, let my response be, “It is well with my soul.” I still love a good thunderstorm. But I look at life’s storms differently now. I am grateful for the lessons they bring.

The first time I flew on an airplane, I was in my twenties. The skies were dark, the wind blew and the rain fell in sheets as our plane took off. But after climbing for just a few minutes, the plane broke through the clouds and my window seat allowed me to witness the blue sky and brilliant sun that had been shining all along. I just couldn’t see the sun because the clouds blocked my view.

If you are struggling in a stormy season, remember that God wants to be our refuge and safety. He is still there, even when the clouds block our view of his goodness. Look for him. He is better than any basement on any stormy day.

A Pep-Talk for Pilgrims

The first time I ever heard the word, “pilgrim”, I was in elementary school. I listened with rapt attention as my teacher described Plymouth Rock and the travelers who had journeyed so far to the new land that I only knew as home. The story of that first Thanksgiving shared by the pilgrims and the native people of the land, along with the pictures of those pilgrims, brought my imagination to life. I was so very excited to learn that our classroom would be presenting a special, pilgrim-themed event for our parents to attend. I got to dress up as, you guessed it, a pilgrim. My costume was complete with long black dress with a white collar, a white apron, and a very pilgrim-y hat that had been created by my mom and grandmother.

I had not thought much more about the pilgrims and their journey until recently. Last summer I signed up to take a summer class at my home church with a local bible teacher. Kristi blew me away with not just her knowledge, but with her unique view of the bible. Twelve years ago, as a student herself, she took her first trip to Israel. She described how she had found the stories in the bible suddenly turned from black-and-white to color as she visited the places that had before just been locations on a map in the back of that sacred book. She relayed how looking at the bible through a first-century lens had so changed her DNA, that she had been taking groups back herself ever since. I enjoyed that class so much, as soon as it ended, I signed up for a fall class.

Photo by Kristi McLelland. It was taken in Israel a couple of months ago. In twelve years of visiting Israel, she has never seen a rainbow there. But this trip, she was able to see God’s symbol of promise while standing in the Promised Land.

Suddenly, it was as if I was back in elementary school. Once again, I was listening with rapt attention to a teacher talk about being a pilgrim, and a journey, a pilgrimage that she has not only taken herself, but that she was inviting me and others to take as well.

Initially, I ignored the talk about becoming a pilgrim. After all, that outfit made by my mother hasn’t fit me in a very long time. Being a pilgrim involves risk. It involves commitment. It involves investment. It involves surrender. So I did what every scared pilgrim would do. I googled “Why do people go on a pilgrimage?” I landed upon a blog called “Holy Rover” by a woman named Lori Erickson. I could tell by her first name alone that she could absolutely be trusted and is a probably a genius. Her blog included her top 10 reasons to go on a pilgrimage:

10. You’re young and want an adventure.

9. You’re old and want to reflect on your life.

8. You’ve had a divorce, are grieving a loss, or have had some other major life event.

7. You want to draw closer to God.

6. You’re pretty sure there is no God, but there’s a tiny sliver of doubt.

5. You think a pilgrimage sounds better than therapy.

4. You want to make new friends.

3. You want to be alone.

2. You’ve got itchy feet.

1. You’re human.

I could say “affirmative” to at least seven items on this list. Obviously Ms. Erickson is a big fan of everyone going on a pilgrimage at some point in their life journey. But Israel? Really? I have always been afraid of going there. It has felt like a danger zone, and I wanted to feel safe, secure in my little corner of the world. I mean, Israel is in the Middle East, for goodness sake.

I have struggled with the concept of becoming a pilgrim. This journey will involve a two week trip scheduled for June 2020. It will entail two weeks away from my work and my family. The trip is expensive. I will be going in a group, but going by myself. As is my usual modus operandi, I prayed and asked God to let me know very specifically what I should do about this opportunity. The next day….I’m not kidding….literally, the next day I received an email from someone that instructed me to read Psalm 84.

I opened my bible and started reading. My heart couldn’t believe my eyes when it read “Blessed are those whose strength is in You, whose hearts are set on pilgrimage.” How is that for a specific answer?

It’s hard to explain what it actually feels like to be called to be a pilgrim. But the call has hit me hard, right between the eyes. I explained it to my husband this way. I said, “Remember how it felt when we just knew that we had a child waiting for us in China? Remember how the desire was so strong to pursue that adoption that it almost physically hurt? Remember how it was less painful to endure the paperwork, the home-study, the months of waiting and the financial stress than it was to say “No” to that call? “

“Yes”, he said.

“I have never felt that way again, about anything, until now,” I responded. “I just know that I’m supposed to take this trip to Israel.”

“Then you need to go,” was his reply. I love him, by the way.

So, this post is being written by a bona fide pilgrim-in-training. Kristi says, “Pilgrimage begins the moment you say, ‘Yes.” I may be a little over a year away from our group’s departure date, but this pilgrim has already started her journey. Arriving in Israel will be my summit experience. But I don’t want to miss the sights and people I encounter along the way there.

I’ve realized something through this entire process. We all really are pilgrims. We are all on this journey called life. We don’t have to travel somewhere to experience pilgrimage. My pilgrimage isn’t going to look exactly like yours. No one person’s pilgrimage is any more special than another’s. Our singular journeys can happen anywhere, even in our own backyard.

Pilgrimage begins the moment you say, “yes.”
Kristi McClelland, bible teacher extraordinaire

This weekend Savannah Guthrie, morning host of the TODAY Show, returned to her alma mater, George Washington University, to deliver the graduation commencement address. Her address was brilliant. She was funny, inspirational and charming. During her address, she said something that struck me as really, really important. She said, “Don’t stress when other people seem to be going higher and faster…The life you’re making is enough. It is enough. You are enough.”

We pilgrims can be terribly hard on each other. Sometimes our eyes get so dazzled by our destination in the distance that we forget to help our fellow pilgrims we encounter along the path. We also can be incredibly hard on our self. Let’s agree to slow down, breathe, and enjoy the journey. That journey is just as important as the destination. Maybe it’s even more important.

I’m rooting for you, pilgrim. I’ll be cheering you on each step of the way. Return the favor, will you? Promise me you will cheer this claustrophobic pilgrim on through every square inch of Hezekiah’s tunnels.

Don’t be afraid. Say “yes” and let your journey begin.

If These Walls Could Speak

My siblings, Cathy and Dan and me standing in front of our childhood home, built by our Dad – April 2019

Last weekend my siblings and I began the process of cleaning out my mom’s house. She has been in memory care for over a year and won’t be returning home. My brother, sister and I agreed to meet to begin the process of going through 40+ years of clothes, furniture, knick-knacks and photos. The task seemed daunting and if I am going to be honest, I was dreading the trip immensely.

As I prepared to make the solo, 5-hour drive to Northern Kentucky, my husband, the Music Man, hugged me and said, “I know you are not looking forward to this trip. Remember, it’s all just ‘stuff.’” I knew he was right. The truth is, I didn’t feel a huge attachment to much of the ‘stuff’ in the house. But the nostalgia of the moment threatened to overtake me as I began the trip. So many memories fill that space. My dad built that house. We moved in when I was in middle school. I remember we found a snake in my bedroom the day we moved in. That little scaly critter had hitched a ride inside via a box of my things that had been sitting outside in the yard waiting to get loaded in and unpacked. I hate snakes. I really hate them. So that intro to my new bedroom was rocky at best.

I looked up the definition of nostalgia. It is a “longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.” In other words, it is a time or a place that gives you all the feels. This home was that place for me.

Mom’s handwriting on the outside of the envelope where she saved my childhood poems written to her or other significant people.

Upon arriving at the house, my brother and sister met me in the front yard to take a few photos. Then we went inside to get to work. We started with all of the bedroom closets. Oh my goodness! One thing this trip accomplished was to motivate me to put my own house (and closets) in order. Who knew that closets and dresser drawers could hold so much? But how fun it was to see what mom held dear.

There was the envelope simply titled, “Lori’s Poems”. Inside she had kept all of the poetry I had written to her over the years. Knowing that her memory was failing due to her dementia, my always organized mom left herself and us little notes, or breadcrumbs as my sister called them, to lead us to important papers or items of sentiment. She even left little baggies with each of the granddaughters’ names with a piece of jewelry made by her dad, my grandfather, in his jewelry shop in the basement of his home. Written on those baggies were instructions that each girl was to receive their piece upon their graduation from high school.

There were recipes written in both my mom’s and my grandmother’s handwriting, journals and bibles where she had written her thoughts, and boxes of photographs. There were so many photographs.

A very young Mom and Dad
My sweet momma, two months before I was born.
Easter 1973. Matching dresses by Mom.

There is an old Amy Grant song called, “Heirlooms.” The lyrics to that song describe perfectly how I feel about those photos. Those lyrics are:

Up in the attic,
Down on my knees.
Lifetimes of boxes,
Timeless to me.

Letters and photographs,
Yellowed with years,
Some bringing laughter,
Some bringing tears.

Time never changes,
The memories, the faces
Of loved ones, who bring to me,
All that I come from,
And all that I live for,

And all that I’m going to be.
My precious family
Is more than an heirloom to me.

Meeting my new baby brother, Dan. I was two years old in this photo.

My family was not perfect. Over the decades and generations my family has seen its fair share of hardship through illness, financial challenges, divorce, and loss. But these hardships were offset with goodness, kindness, generosity, love and laughter. These people that I came from? They were real, human, and so very special. Their decency, patriotism, hospitality and love of God and country have made me and my siblings who we are. It has also influenced our own little families.

My great-grandpa Shotwell. He has his arm around my Momma.
Rose Shotwell, my great grandmother, holding her son, my great uncle Clifford.

My grandmother, Ruth, (on the right) standing beside her sister, Naomi. If you know the bible story, you know why I love that these are their names. My momma is standing in front .

I have said a number of times to friends that my childhood was idyllic, and that it has seemed I have lived a charmed life. Here’s the reality. There is no such thing as a charmed life. But there is such a thing as living in the shadow of God’s favor. I am becoming more and more aware of his favor shown to me and my family. As a matter of fact, I have begun to ask God daily to pour his favor all over us. There’s a great verse in Numbers 6:25 (TLB) that says, “May the Lord bless and protect you; may the Lord’s face radiate with joy because of you; may he be gracious to you, show you his favor, and give you his peace.” This verse could easily become a prayer that you pray daily over yourself and your family. God’s favor is a gift that he is more than OK with us asking him to give us.

At two years of age, I wanted to try out this new contraption called a hair dryer.

We aren’t done cleaning out my mom’s house. We all return in a few weeks. I am actually looking forward to going back. The treasure of these memories are calling me. Because as Dr. Seuss said, “Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.”

What’s so GREAT about Good Friday?

I’m curious. What do you think of when you hear the word “Easter”? Does that word conjure up thoughts that are all things bunnies and baskets, Easter egg hunts, lilies, and family dinners? Is Easter one of a handful of times you attend a church every year, more out of duty because you have been hurt by the church, or someone in it? Is Easter just another day on the calendar? Is it a genuine celebration of an empty tomb? What does that word mean to you?

When I was a little girl, we attended an annual Easter egg hunt sponsored by our little country church, usually held the Saturday before Easter Sunday. Coloring eggs and writing our names on the eggs with a white crayon was thrilling. I can still smell the vinegar in the bowls that contained all of those beautiful dyes used to turn our ordinary eggs into unique works of art. On Easter morning, the Easter Bunny prepared baskets and then hid them somewhere in our living room. Because the Easter Bunny knew I was the oldest, he always hid mine in such a way that it was a little harder to find than my younger siblings. Their baskets always seemed to be in plain sight, while I searched. After all of the baskets were found, we ate jelly beans and chocolate bunnies for breakfast and then dressed up in our Easter finery for church. Very often, because my mom and grandma sewed some of our clothes, my dress matched my sister’s dress, and maybe even my mom’s. There were photo sessions and singing and stories of Jesus no longer being dead, but alive….so alive! Finally we all headed to a relative’s house to spend the afternoon with our extended family. Our family is big. There were a lot of us crowded into that little house. We ate until we could eat no more. We played outside, watched football games and took naps. It was glorious.

Here’s the thing. I have a tendency during Passion Week to place all of my attention on the excitement of Sunday. I have grown out of the Easter bunny phase. So have my kids. I truly love celebrating the wonder of Jesus’ resurrection. But the reality is that a lot happened in those seven days between Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday. This year, I have felt challenged to not just look at the events of that first Easter Sunday morning at the tomb, but at what also happened in the days leading up to the resurrection that many of us are preparing to celebrate.

My church has just completed a 7-week series called, “Last Words”. Each week we have focused on one of the seven statements that Jesus spoke on the cross before he died. This study has been so enlightening. It’s been brutal. It’s been sobering. I am reminded that very often I tend to jump over the agony of the cross and go straight to the Easter “party.” I don’t want to make that mistake this year.

Tomorrow is Good Friday, the day that Jesus was crucified on the cross. The Romans did not invent crucifixion as a form of capital punishment. The Assyrians did that. But the Romans borrowed this method and perfected the art of crucifixion torture. I have been told by a bible teacher that the average person who was crucified lived on his cross, naked, for three days before dying. The Roman soldiers stayed on guard as the sentence was carried out. Most crucifixions occurred at ground level, near a road, so travelers who passed by could jeer and taunt those awaiting death. The Roman soldiers were there not to guard the convicted, but to prevent the loved ones present at the cross from comforting those who had been condemned.

So Jesus hung there on his cross, between two convicted criminals, in both emotional and physical agony. Never had he felt such physical torture. Never had he felt such rejection by his Heavenly Father. The intensity of his emotional pain was simply off the charts.

The crucifixion, although brutal, was timed so perfectly by God. In Jerusalem, at the time of Jesus, two offerings were made daily to God by the priests in the temple. These sacrifices were called the Tamid sacrifices, and they involved the blood sacrifice of a spotless lamb, perfect and without blemish. The morning sacrifice took place each day at the 3rd hour (9 am) and the evening sacrifice took place at the 9th hour (3 pm). Two lambs were slain in the temple daily to account for the forgiveness of the peoples’ sins.

Do you know what time the bible very specifically says Jesus was nailed to the cross? 9 am!

Do you know what time the bible very specifically says that Jesus died on the cross? 3 pm!

The perfect, spotless, and blameless Lamb of God fulfilled, once and for all, the Tamid sacrifice for all people – past, present and future. This means me and it means you. When Jesus said, “It is finished”, he meant exactly that. His blood paid the forever price for us. Jesus hung on the cross for only 6 hours before he cried, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” Then he died. The one who was instrumental from the beginning in creation, the one who could have used his supernatural power to call down heaven’s army to save him, stayed on that cross…not for three days like the average criminal…but long enough to become our forever sacrifice.

The redemption story God was writing had come full circle. Think about it. Jesus was born at night in Bethlehem, but the sky was filled with light from the chorus of angels who heralded his birth. Jesus was crucified at Golgotha during the day, but at noon, the sky became dark as night and stayed that way for 3 hours. In the book of Genesis, it is recounted that after eating fruit from the tree that they had been forbidden by God to eat, Adam and Eve stood behind a tree, naked, cowering in shame. Fast forward to the old rock quarry named Golgotha and we see Jesus, hanging on a tree, naked, conquering our shame. What better illustration of God’s love for all of us. “God does some of his best work through death. While Jesus was being crushed on the cross, he was doing some crushing of his own”. (Quote by Kristi McLelland)

So don’t be afraid to ponder the cross as Easter approaches. Don’t be afraid to explore the intimate death of Jesus. It may not feel like a Good Friday, but without that heart-breaking, horrible act, there would be no Resurrection Sunday. So in my book, that makes Friday pretty great.

Do You Have a Pulse?

My Life Speaks Campus – Neply Haiti 2016

I studied nursing in college. One of the first things the nursing program professors taught us was the importance of assessing a patient’s “ABCs”, which stood for Airway, Breathing and Circulation. When assessing patients, we had to determine quickly if they had an open Airway, one that would allow the passage of air into, and back out of, their lungs. Next, we had to ascertain if they were Breathing. Could we see their chest rise and fall with each breath? Could we feel or hear the air moving in and out of their nose or mouth? Third, we had to confirm that the patients had adequate Circulation, or in other words, a Pulse. You can gain a wealth of information by assessing the quality of a person’s pulse. Is it fast or slow? Is it strong or thready? Is the pulse regular or beating in a wildly erratic rhythm? The only observation a nurse doesn’t want to make is that there is no pulse. A heart that stops beating is a heart that is incompatible with life.

I am a TODAY SHOW fan. It is very rare that I am afforded the opportunity to watch an entire morning of TODAY news, special interest stories, cooking segments, and surprise audience makeovers. But I watch when I can. I have grown to love the personalities that greet me from my TV in the morning as I get ready for work. Last Friday, I watched with interest as TODAY said good-bye to Kathie Lee Gifford, one of their fourth hour co-hosts. Kathie Lee had made the decision to move on from her morning TV hosting duties to pursue her dream of making music and movies. I was fascinated as a proverbial list of who‘s who in celebrities was paraded through that final show hour. Each guest wished Kathie well via surprise appearances and video packages. But the most touching of all was a video interview segment of Kathie’s two children, Cody and Cassidy. They spoke of their mom with such love and respect. Cody said that they were often asked what it was like to have such a legend as a mom. His response was, “We didn’t know her as Kathie Lee, the legend. We just knew her as a legendary mom.” But the standout quote of the morning came from Cassidy, Kathie Lee’s daughter and youngest child with former football great, Frank Gifford. When questioned about the best advice that her mom had ever given her, Cassidy responded without missing a beat, “If you still have a pulse, you have a purpose.”

Those words! They took my breath away. Who hasn’t felt adrift in the sea of “What is my purpose”? I think we all have asked ourselves this question at various times in our lives: High School Graduation. College Graduation. Post-Divorce. Post-Job Loss. Widows and Widowers. Empty-Nesters. Post-Retirement. Mark Twain very wisely once said, “The two most important days in your life are the day you are born, and the day you find out why.”

My thoughts about purpose have changed over the years. When I was younger, I used to think that there was one singular thing, one clearly-defined purpose that I was created to accomplish or contribute to this world. Early on, I struggled to define that one thing. As the years have passed, my understanding about purpose has evolved. What if, just as the seasons of our lives change, perhaps our purpose for those seasons change with them? The dictionary defines the term “purpose” as the reason that someone or something exists. Ann Voskamp has been quoted as saying “You were made for the place where your real passion meets compassion, because there lies your real purpose.”

But what about when our purpose gets tangled in comparison with someone else’s? What if their purpose seems more exciting, more noble, more high-profile or more worthwhile than mine?

I don’t enjoy running. As a matter of fact, if you ever see me running it is going to be because someone or something dangerous is chasing me. But I have several friends who are runners. Much of their time is spent focusing on 5Ks, 10Ks, half-marathons, full marathons, and training runs. Most of them never win the races they enter. But that fact doesn’t discourage them because they aren’t running to compete against the other runners. They are focused on running THEIR race, beating their own personal record set in their prior race outings. Hebrews 12:1 references runners in a race. It urges these runners to throw off all of the extra weight that may slow them down, and encourages the athletes to run THEIR race with the endurance of a marathon athlete.

Purpose is like that. Bob Goff says, “We won’t be distracted by comparison if we are captivated by purpose.” Figure out where your passion and your compassion meet, and your purpose will be right around the corner. Maybe your purpose is to be a stay-at-home-mom. Maybe your purpose is to open your home to at-risk kids. Maybe your purpose is to foster abused animals, or coach a kids’ baseball team, or volunteer at a local food bank. Maybe your purpose is to always be the kindest person in the room, or to simply love people…all people. You get to decide. But if you have a pulse, you have a purpose. Don’t waste another heartbeat.

Pancho and Lefty: A Warrior’s Tale

April 2018 – Opening Night of “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat” at Middle Tennessee State University. The Music Man was discharged from the hospital earlier in the day and had surgery just 3 days prior to this photo being taken

“Can you take my leg out to the car?” Let’s just add that statement to about 100 different comments I never thought I would hear anyone in my family ever utter. To fully explain, let’s rewind a few years. I turned ‘50’ years old in 2014. Wow! That sounds really old when you type it out in sentence form. While the changing of a decade is a milestone in and of itself, there is another profound reason I consider that a milestone year. I lost my dad to leukemia in late 2014. His loss hit me like a runaway train. I knew we were losing him. I sat by his bedside in hospice and told him it was OK for him to go and we would miss him. I assured him we would be alright. I prayed that God would take him home and stop his suffering. But I didn’t anticipate how his loss would affect me physically and emotionally. You see, because of my mom’s ongoing battle with dementia, Dad was the one who knew my name. So the loss of him was deep, as in “deep end of the pool” deep. I stopped sleeping well. I was irritable. I felt anxious, but also felt the need to appear strong. I began experiencing panic attacks. That season of life was very, very difficult. But the enduring lesson I learned during that season was not that time heals all wounds. The lesson I learned was that time simply moves you further away from the pain. You CAN smile again. You CAN live again. Really live.

Every year in December I ask God to give me a word for the upcoming year, a word that will provide focus for me as I look ahead. On December 25, 2015, as I was packing my suitcase in San Antonio, Texas, God clearly gave me my word for 2016. WARRIOR. I felt immediate panic. The word “Warrior’, in my mind, invoked thoughts of battles fought and maybe battles lost. My response to God? In typical Lori fashion I told him, “I don’t like that word. Can’t you give me another word, one that’s not quite so scary? “I think God smiled at me that day, his impudent child. But he stood firm and I begrudgingly marched ahead, head-down with steely resolve, into 2016.

That’s why, sitting in church one Sunday morning in early 2016 when my husband, the Music Man, mentioned some stomach discomfort, I’m surprised I didn’t give his complaints much thought. What proceeded, through December 2016, was a strings of surgeries and complications that confined my Music Man to bed and caused him to lose 100 pounds as he fought his way back to wellness. Honestly, there was a moment during all of that chaos that I thought we might lose him. But God was so kind and so merciful. He healed the Music Man. I realized during that time of illness that God hadn’t called me to be a warrior to fight my own battle, but to be a prayer warrior for my husband. God knew that he would need someone standing in the gap, lifting him up in prayer when he was too weak to pray himself. So I fought and prayed, along with an intimate group of other prayer warriors who joined us faithfully in the battle.

There are a couple of Hebrew words that describe that season of life for me. Those words are “Ezer Kenegdo”. These are the words in the bible that were used to describe Eve when God created her for Adam. These words can be interpreted as helper, or helpmate. But the word “Ezer” can also mean “Warrior”. (Coincidence? I don’t think so.) There are only a couple times in the bible that this word is used in this manner. One is to describe Eve at creation. One is to describe God, in the Psalms, as the warrior who fights for his people. The word “Kenegdo” means coming alongside intimately, “face-to-face and side-to-side”. As a wife, I am trying to learn to embrace this new, alternative definition of Ezer Kenegdo. I’m a work in progress. I fail often. But I take this new-found understanding of these words and my role seriously. By the way…I don’t have any tattoos. I don’t know that I will ever get one. But if I do ever decide to take the tattoo plunge, guess what my tattoo will say?

I wish I could say this journey was now concluded, but the Music Man’s illness brought a recurrence of my anxiety and panic attacks. The name of this blog site is “The Deep End of the Pool” for a reason. I didn’t feel just like I was in the deep end of a swimming pool. I felt like I was in an abyss. The deepest part of the ocean is called the Mariana Trench in the Pacific Ocean. It is over 36,000 feet deep. It felt like I was living there. When my hair started to fall out, I knew it was time to seek help. My doctor listened compassionately as I poured out my struggles and fears to him. He gently said that he wanted to encourage me to start thinking about taking a medication that would help deal with the anxiety. He suggested an antidepressant medication, telling me I may get to the point when I feel so overwhelmed that I need to take something to help me get through the day. “I’m already there,” I confessed. “Please write the prescription.”

I started feeling better in a few weeks, and within a few months, it was like someone had opened the curtains to let the sunshine in. I had no idea how dark life had become. But I was living again. Really living. It felt amazing. I took the medication for about 15 months and then, when I didn’t need it anymore and in consultation with my doctor, tapered successfully off and eventually stopped taking it altogether. Little did I know what we were about to face…our hardest test as a family yet.

The Music Man struggled with a persistent, chronic foot infection for over 18 months. Suddenly, almost exactly 1 year ago, I received a call from him that rocked our world. I had taken our girls to Florida for Spring Break. He was supposed to meet us there, but instead ended up in the ER. His call that morning was to let me know that he had just received the word that the infection had become so advanced that the physicians felt they had no other alternative but to amputate his foot.

Words can’t describe the emotions. Utter disbelief. Shock. Fear. Feeling like this is all just a bad dream and praying that I would wake up. But it was not a dream. It was reality. The next 24 hours were filled with changing flights and getting home to Tennessee to support our guy.

Let me tell you about the Music Man. He is so very brave and strong. His biggest concern during the entire ordeal was making sure our kids knew that everything was going to be OK. He looked the hard thing in the face and did not blink. The definition of bravery is being scared, but doing the hard thing anyway. That is my guy, and I am so very proud of him.

I prayed Isaiah 40:31 with him before they took him away to surgery. “But those who wait upon God get fresh strength. They spread their wings and soar like eagles. They run and don’t get tired. They walk and don’t lag behind.” ~The Message

Three days after surgery, he was transferred to rehab. But he refused to go unless the rehab promised that he could have a pass to leave that evening so he could go see our son perform in his college musical debut. They agreed, and he went. The photo at the top of the page was taken the night of that performance.

A few days after arriving at rehab, I got a call from the nurse telling me the Music Man had fallen the night before. He had gotten up and forgotten that he didn’t have a foot, because phantom foot sensation is real, ya’ll. Down to the ground he went. Because he couldn’t get up by himself, he had to call loudly for someone to come help him get up. But do you know what he did the next day in occupational therapy when they asked him what he wanted to work on for that day’s session? He asked them to put him on the floor and teach him how to get up. That’s bravery in action. I love him.

About 8 weeks after surgery, the Music Man got to bring his new leg home. He named the leg Pancho after an old Willie Nelson song entitled, “Pancho and Lefty”. Pancho has now become a part of the family.

So now, here we are back to present day. This warrior wife has fought battles, the Music Man’s and her own. It is true that she has grown weary at times. But she has also grown stronger and more capable in battle. Ultimately, she is more convinced than ever that God is the true “Ezer-Warrior”. I’m so glad the ultimate battle has already been won.

What Would Dolly Do?

This portrait is hanging in the lobby of the Dream More Resort in Pigeon Forge, TN .

Dolly Parton. Her name is synonymous with country music, blond wigs, a big smile, and a couple of other big things. 😉 I must confess that I am not a Dolly aficionado. As a matter of fact, I didn’t know much about her at all until a recent family trip to Pigeon Forge, TN. Now I am a bona fide fan.

Dolly Rebecca Parton was born, the fourth of twelve children, in a one room cabin in the mountains of East Tennessee. Her mother was the mom of twelve kids by the time she was thirty-five years old. Her dad was a preacher. Dolly was born into the deep end of the pool. Her family was so very poor. They probably could not have sunk much lower based on their economic status. Because they had no money, her dad paid the doctor who delivered her with a bag of corn meal. She relates one early story where her mother made her a coat from leftover scraps of material, a coat of many colors. Dolly later wrote one of her best-loved songs about that coat. A TV movie was even made based on that song, “Coat of Many Colors”.

Dolly loved music from a young age. Although she was not a great student academically, she graduated from high school, loaded up her car, and moved to Nashville the day after graduation to pursue her dream of becoming a professional singer.

The rest, as they say, is history. Dolly Parton is an icon in the music industry. But she never forgot what it felt like to swim for her life in the deep end of the pool in that little town where she was raised.

Dolly could have made her millions and rested on her laurels, forgetting her family and the community where she came from. But once her dream to make music (and movies) was achieved, Dolly kept dreaming. She became a savvy and successful business woman and a philanthropist. She once said, “Many an old boy has found out too late that I look like a woman but think like a man. It is a great mistake to assume that because I look soft, I do business that way.”

My own children benefitted from the Dollywood Foundation literacy program, which provided a new book, mailed to each child monthly, from birth to 5 years of age. During our recent trip to east Tennessee, I was struck by the poverty that is still prevalent in that area. But now, due to Dolly’s insistence that jobs be provided to the people who live in Sevierville, Pigeon Forge, and other local cities in the Smoky Mountains, many local residents have found employment through Dollywood, The Dolly Parton Dixie Stampede, and Dolly’s nearby resort.

We stayed at the resort, which is aptly named. “Dream More.” Not surprisingly, I spent some time dreaming during our trip. I’ve had a number of dreams during my life. Marriage. Babies. Adopting from China. Singing. A nursing career. Moving to Nashville. But this recent trip has challenged me to keep dreaming. Dolly says, “Find out who you are and do it on purpose.” Wow! Who AM I? The person I am today is different than the person I was yesterday and the person I will be tomorrow.

We all have had dreams at some point in our lives. Some seem attainable and some seem like pipe dreams, a mirage, or even a delusional daydream. Maybe you think that your time to dream has passed. But I am here to tell you it’s never too late to have a dream. I love what the bible says about dreams in Acts 2:17: ‘In the last days,’ God says, ‘I will pour out my Spirit upon all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy. Your young men will see visions, and your old men will dream dreams.’

I have gotten very bold with God as I have gotten older. Bob Goff has said, “Bold prayers honor God and God honors bold prayers.” So I have learned to be bold when God and I talk. If I am praying for what I can accomplish on my own, no faith is required. But if I pray boldly for things that are well outside of my control, that’s where faith in the abilities of a loving Father kicks in.

I’ll let you decide which group you fall into based on that verse in Acts. If you see yourself as a young man or woman, ask God to give you a vision for the life he wants you to pursue. Or ask him to give you a glimpse of his vision for the world, and jump into his world. If you see yourself as an older man or woman, ask God to give you a fresh dream, one that fulfills your life and allows you to be everything that he created you to be.

We were all put on this earth for a purpose. It’s time to think about what that purpose is, and to allow ourselves to dream more. Because as Dolly says, “Dreams are of no value if they’re not equipped with wings.”

Thanks, Dolly.