What's Your Superpower?

Fifteen minutes until class starts and the room is buzzing. Kids came in right after being dismissed from the main session 45 minutes ago, but I am just now realizing I left my teaching notes in the room we are staying in down the hall.

Anchorage Baptist Temple can feel like a maze if you've never been inside before because it's not just a church with Sunday School rooms- this building serves as home to a very large Christian school with long hallways and rooms that snake around for two floors. Our group of nearly twenty from Homer is staying in a couple of rooms during the yearly statewide youth conference.

My classroom- the one preassigned to me- is a large room that is set up with five round tables, with about thirty chairs in all. Once the chairs fill up, kids start lining the floor in the back and in clusters around the room. I've chosen a popular theme apparently. "What's Your Superpower?" must be a question a lot of young people want to hear about.

But I am in near panic mode when I realize all my notes were locked up in our room after lunch. Class begins in fifteen minutes and my phone is threatening to shut down with a mere 1% of charge left. As I'm assessing the situation, two young men with camera equipment step into the room and ask, "Is it okay if we film your teaching?" I ask why they chose my class and they tell me their first choice was overly full and it appears I have more space to set up their gear.

"Sure- come on in!" My smile is a mask for the anxiety that is trying to take over.

Things are getting real, people. This is the moment I'm calling on Jesus to HELP! and I really need my notes! I step out the door to see one of the guys from our group and tell him what's going on. After describing my notebook, he offers to find the key and bring it to class - even if I've already started.

Whew. Crisis averted!

As I begin, I tell the class I've tricked them, because we're not actually going to spend the whole time talking about superpowers and the pros and cons of the Marvel universe versus DC comics. We're actually going to be talking about spiritual gifts and our place in God's story.

In 1 Corinthians 12, it seems odd to combine a list of spiritual gifts with an expose on the merits of the nose and toes and every body part being valuable. At first glance, it seems like two totally unrelated themes. But as we read, we began to see three things:

Every gift comes from God.
Every person has been given a gift.
Every gift is to be used to serve others.

In a demonstration of that idea, I began to pass out large puzzle pieces to different students in the room. "Write your gift on the back and initial it." When one girl informs me she doesn't have a gift, I smile at her and pass her a puzzle piece.

Then I call everyone to the back of the room and instruct them not to flip their puzzle piece over yet. I'm going to time them, so at the word Go! They may flip their piece over and assemble the 24 pieces into a finished product.

The girl who thought she had no gift looks over at me amidst the crazy room of students assembling in the back and whispers "What do I do?" 

"This is your piece, you can give it or keep it- it's up to you! If you keep it, they can't finish the puzzle - but I'm not going to make you give it."

She pauses a moment then heads to the back to find her place with the others. Within two minutes, it was complete. As I walk over to the completed puzzle, I began to speak.

"I know this is a puzzle, but today this puzzle represents more - this represents God's heart and the things He wants to do in the world. Because each of you contributed your part - your gift - we have a clear picture of God's heart and what He is doing in the world.

"Now one of you didn't know what your gift was, but instead of holding back, you signed your puzzle piece and brought it anyway. This is beautiful to me- and to God. This is someone who says 'Jesus, I don't know what I have to offer, but I want to give it to you. I'm not sure what my gift is, but I'm showing up. I'm not sure how I can help, but here I am!"

After class, that same girl- the one who didn't think she had a gift - came up to me to say: I think I know what my gift is now.

I felt such joy! I hope each student in that room came to see how valuable their part is in God's big plan.

My Future Self

My ultimate goal has always been to be an amazing grandmother. In fact, I wanted to be a grandmother before I even had children. I know it may seem ridiculous, but I've had such incredible examples in my own life that I couldn't help but wish to be the kind of women my own grandmothers are. I just wanted to skip to the part of life where I would be incredibly wise, sweet, endlessly patient and loved by all. Easy, right? Ha!

It wasn't until I had my own children that I realized: this is the initiation process. No one becomes amazing overnight. It is these years as a mother that will ease me into becoming an amazing grandmother.

Recently I was explaining my ultimate goal to a new friend. Anyone who has known me for any length of time will soon discover my not-so-secret ambition. As I was talking to her, I realized my ultimate goal to become a grandmother isn't really about having grandchildren. It's actually more about mirroring the person I want to become.

1 John 3:7 says those who practice righteousness belong to God, and those who practice unrighteousness don't belong to God. It’s such a simple idea:  if I belong to God then I should act like him, plain and simple. I suppose this is a principle that could be applied across the board: if you want to be a good musician, then you practice music. If you want to be a good doctor, then you practice medicine. If you want to be an Olympic gold medalist, then you take the time to work out and develop your skill. You get better at whatever you choose to practice. It's funny that we associate practice with professions more than we associate it with character because I think God is more concerned about the person we are becoming than the goals we are achieving.

So these days I'm leaning into becoming that amazing grandmother. Since I want my future grandmotherly self to be kind, then I’m practicing being a kind mother. Since I want to be known as a patient woman 20 years from now, then I’m learning to take time to respond instead of reacting - I’m practicing being patient. Since I want to be an amazing cook, I’m hunting down good recipes and keeping that oven warm! It’s tempting to think that one day everything will fall into place and we'll magically be more awesome, but I think it's our daily habits that determine who we eventually become.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

How about you? What are you practicing these days?

God has a sense of humor

As I approach the door, I notice a square sticker on the window:

I'm going to hell in all the world religions.

Hmmm... I don't remember seeing that before. I chuckle aloud and wonder who she’s trying to rebuff with
that one. Mormons? Overzealous door-to-door salesmen?

I step up to the door and knock. Within seconds, a black chihuahua is bouncing, barking and snarling at the door. A moment later, a wiry woman steps over to pick up her dog and chides him for his unwelcome behavior, then opens the door for me. As I step inside, the smell of cigarettes greets me. I cautiously
move forward again, so I have room to close the door behind me.

Her name is Fern. She used to drive trucks across the country but somehow ended up at the end of the
road here in Homer. We met when she worked at the Salvation Army thrift store. I once made peanut
butter cookies and took them to her. When I saw her next, she exclaimed, ”Those were the best cookies
I’ve ever had; I need to get that recipe!” I laughed and promised to bring it by later.

My husband once helped to install flooring in her little cabin. When he came in that evening, he laughed
remembering her dogs. “One’s name is Princess, and the other one is Little Shit. She said he got in
trouble so much, he started to think that was his name, and it stuck!”

Later Ethan burned their names into wooden Christmas ornaments and gifted them to Fern when he saw
her in town.

We love Fern.

With brown hair gathered into a ponytail and streaming down her back, she flashes her smile and waves
me into the living room where empty boxes are gaping expectantly. She nods toward the window, where
several hanging plants are tangled together. “There they are, and they’re all yours!”

I smile warmly and move closer to help her take them down. “Thank you!”

We visit while disentangling the vines from one another, and through conversation, I realize she has
tended these plants for four years. Inwardly I wonder how they survived so well with all that cigarette
smoke, and then I think how ironic it would be if they died in my smoke-free home.

Fern’s Dad is unwell so she will be leaving in a few days to help him out, and she doesn’t know when
she’ll be returning. A month? Three months? Next spring? He was diagnosed with Dementia,and things
need to be taken care of, so she’s bought a ticket and is doing a thorough spring cleaning and decluttering
before leaving.

She pulls a long black toboggan to the front door and turns it so the white tow rope is ready to be pulled
to my car. We begin to load plants- an ivy starter, a magnificent jade that is over a foot and a half tall, a
spider plant with long green and white leaves, a philodendron whose trailing leaves sweep the floor- four
of those,  and then she tosses in a tray of Nasturtiums for good measure.

Later she calls me back to her house to give me food from her freezer, and asks if I would be interested
in watching her Dahlias? I say yes because I love beauty, and then I repeat her instructions to care for
them out loud. I mentally remind myself to mark these gallon pots when I get home and feel like a
sentinel who was just charged with their first assignment.

The gifts keep coming.

A large black bag of clothes.

Another bag filled with shoes, this one containing a pair of XtraTuffs, the famous Alaskan footwear of
fishermen and brides.

A box of hand and toe warmers- the kind you open, shake and tuck into your pocket to warm up when
you’re camping in Alaska. Perfect for the school Ethan is leading with all those outdoor adventures.

As each box or bag is sent over, I sort through it immediately and decide what things to keep and which
things to pass along, and I marvel at the way God provides for us. Through this outspoken woman who
claims no religion has its grip on her- this is the vessel God has poured His kindness through. So I begin
to pray for Fern. If she can soften her heart towards us to bless us so freely, then surely her heart
can soften towards God as well.

Days like these call for faith

Prelude: Last week Ethan was away on a wilderness trip with our students, and by the end of the week I just felt limp emotionally. Feeling low, unmotivated, and looking forward to bedtime - let this day be done already! However, we had a happy reunion yesterday, and it knocked the edge off of my sadness. This morning I woke up with thoughts swirling, and decided to catch them before they drifted away…

Days like these call for faith.

It’s easy to believe God loves the busy, the bountiful, the beautiful, the worker bees who end every day with a set of accomplishments in hand. Check!

It’s much harder to believe God loves the broken down, the down and out, the ones who failed - yet again, the ones who arrive at days end with an empty basket in tow, nothing to show for the day's labor.

I breathed. I lived another day. 

I took up space and feel regret for existing. And yet God looks at me, discouraged and disheartened and says I love you as much as you can be loved. Because miraculously, his love doesn’t adjust to reflect my performance for the day. It doesn’t go up or down according to my productivity or usefulness. It flatlines, not in a dead sort of way, but in an overabundant high-in-the-sky way. His love is beyond my ability to earn it. 

My worth doesn’t fluctuate from day to day, it was established at the cross. God has established my worth as THAT OF A GOD. My mind rejects the notion and refuses to believe - but there it is, written in red  

thorns on his head, 

nails driven through just to prove his love is matchless, and my worth is non-negotiable.

I cannot compete with this God. You win. You love more.

So I will do my meager part: the believing. 

The trusting in your goodness and unfailing character.

I will settle myself in the soil of your extravagant love. I will be like a tree nestled by a stream that never fails, with eager roots that burrow deeper down, down into the knowledge that you are always good and I am forever loved.

I will believe what you say. 

Help me to have faith - the kind that moves mountains, the kind that lets me see my end as you do, and empowers me to live it out. 

Measuring Sticks and Mirrors

A couple weeks ago I sat in the living room and shared with Ethan: “I feel like I never measure up! No matter how much I do, it is never enough!”

It's so frustrating to live with a constant sense of failure.

Ethan listened to my dejected words, then suggested, “We should pray and get rid of that measuring stick! Here, let's try something. Close your eyes and go where that measuring stick is and let's get rid of it!”

I closed my eyes and imagined taking Ethan's hand as we stepped into a very long room with white walls. I walked in expecting one measuring stick, but when I looked I was surprised to see several measuring sticks leaned up against the wall, all of them six or seven feet high.

Whoa. 

As I stared at them, I realized each measuring stick represented a woman in my life who was doing something better than I.  Better at being organized, better at keeping her house clean. They represented women who own their own businesses or are more established in a career, women with college degrees and grand accomplishments - none of which I will ever be able to rival.

I whispered to Ethan: “There are a lot of measuring sticks in here.”

“Okay,” he said -  “Let's get rid of them. Why don't you take them out of the room?”

Then he asked, “Where is your measuring stick?”

In my mind's eye, I looked down at my hand to see a ruler about 3 or 4 inches long. I felt bewildered. My ruler is really short.

Ethan immediately asked, “Why is it so short?”

Then it occurred to me: This measuring stick is my inheritance.

 : : : I'm going to interject here that I don't think I really understood what it meant at that time, for this tiny ruler to be my inheritance. But afterward, I thought about my mom and all the depression she experienced when I was growing up. I really think she had a lot of issues with insecurity and self-hatred. I imagine it's hard to pass on a healthy self-image when you are drawing from a bankrupt account. : : :

We both felt that I needed to give my mini ruler to God. We prayed together, but I didn't get a clear picture of what God wanted to trade me until about a week later.

 As I was praying about that vision I asked God again, “What will you trade me for this stick?!?”

I was immediately reminded of a poem I wrote several years ago. It was like a download, it flowed so easily. It was entitled "Looking Glass". As I remembered that poem, I felt like the Lord told me “I'm going to give you a mirror, but it's not going to show you what you look like, this mirror is going to show you how I see you."

That morning, I felt such Joy. I felt like God had placed puzzle pieces in front of me and was slowly allowing me to piece them together. 

I remembered the first time he spoke to me when I saw an acorn on the ground and glanced up to see a tree just beyond, and the Lord told me: You see yourself like an acorn, small and insignificant - but I see the tree that you will be. I see all your gifts and talents unfurled and on full display.

Then I remembered just a short bit ago reading Genesis when I came across the verse that said we were made in the image of God. For some reason, I've glazed over that verse so many times and never caught how powerful it is. 

 I am made in God’s image. 

There is something in me that reflects the image of God.

I remember reading that verse and weeping. If I really believed that there's something in me that reflects who God is, I think I could accept the way I am.

This weekend I attended a conference with Elisa Morgan, and her message seemed to reflect what God is doing in my life right now. Her books ran out before I could get to them, but when I saw this piece of jewelry I knew God wanted to remind me of his promise: 

“I'm going to give you a mirror, but it's not going to show you what you look like, this mirror is going to show you how I see you.” 

Beauty Full.

We could all use a mirror like that.