Enough!

Morning musings with Papa and praying Isaiah 61:1 . . . 

"You are enough.  In all things.  You are enough.

"More than enough.

"Abundantly, filled-to-overflowing enough.  Beyond measure enough.  More-than-I-can-begin-to-imagine enough.

"Lord, Father-God . . . rest Your Spirit on me; let it pour over me as anointing oil over my head.  Bring good news to the poor in spirit -- Good News!  Glad-tidings-of-joy, Joy-to-the-world News! -- through me.  Bind up the brokenhearted through me.  Bring light into darkened eyes, break chains, unlock prison doors through me . . . set the captives free . . . through me." 

If I'm honest, introvert that I am (or just lazy?), on many days (if not most days), I want to remain in my leopard print pajamas (yes, Beverly, I do own pajamas; I wear them to coffee dates with Papa), wrapped up in my fleecy red blanket (snuggled up in His arms) on my couch, safe from schedules, looming deadlines (grades due at 4PM; ugh), poor choices -- mine and others' -- and, oh yeah, their consequences (weenie that I am), AND people.  Safe from people, with their wants, their hurts, their messiness, their grasping and clinging and their rejecting and pushing away . . .  safe from my own words and theirs . . . 

But, alas, He has not called me to dwell on a mountaintop or in a cave . . . I'm neither Heidi nor the Fat Broad.  I'm Saint Pamela, sometimes called to Africa, but mostly called to Seabrook. 

"So empower me to serve from a place of abundance in You.  Fill me, overflow from me, surround me, go ahead of me, hem me in from above and behind, and don't leave my side.  

"Use me up, Papa . . . pour me out into the world You love so much because every drop of me is Yours to spill.  

"And don't stop reminding me that because You are enough, through your extravagant grace and mercy, You make me enough." 

Amen.

A Cup of Love

Sometimes it's good to add some previously written words to my morning coffee . . .

12 November 2010

Good Morning, Papa!

Thank You for Your rich, abundant love for me . . . because of Who You are, You never give up on me . . . You are 1 Corinthians 13.  It's hard to wrap my head around how crazy You are about me . . . especially when I sit in the midst of so much "undone-ness."  

If something's undone, is it not done?  Like unfinished?  Raw?  Naked?  Broken apart?  Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes.  All of the the above.  And more.  (Or less, depending on one's perspective.)  

But You love me now, not when . . . And you love me just as I am at this moment, not how I will be in some distant future.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I pray you are having some big 'ol love with your coffee right now.  Because our Papa is crazy about us, y'know.  Yeah, really.  True story!  It's what this whole season is about.

Kicking up our heels!

Here are some pics from the Tapestry Dinner 

I mentioned in my last post . . . 

 

 Before we took our seats . . . (table toppers from Baby Daughter's wedding reception; they were made the week after Hurricane Ike stormed in through Houston's Bay Area -- no electricity, but a friend hooked my sewing machine up to a generator for me!  Unfortunately, the table toppers lasted longer than the marriage, but . . . well, that's another story.  We keep the good stuff, using what we can, and move forward, right?)  

The boots were graciously loaned to me by my sweet friend, Dawn, who couldn't make the dinner but who knew -- just knew! -- that her boots should attend!  (Those are mermaids painted on them thar boots!) 

The "Princess" magnets -- purchased for forty cents each at a Goodwill store in Medina, OH, this summer -- were originally pink, but I painted over them with some craft paint and a metallic Sharpie.)  

Clockwise from the upper right of the boots: 

Texas Preacher Woman, Debbie, Chris, Bonnie, Maureen, 

Jannie, Sonya (holding Baby Emery who, in honor of the occasion, was wearing the most FAH-BU-LOUS booties), and Jessica.

And a FUN time was had by all!

Burdened by Glitter!

Arghhhh!   My Sweet Blog Family!  I can't believe how long it's been since I've posted!  Too much going on, and -- GASP! -- The Holidays are right here upon us, too!  I promise, though, that I HAVE been blogging in my head . . . just have trouble getting it from there to my computer screen . . . this journal entry from last Thursday a.m. might give you an idea why (and if I know ya'll, it might sound like your life, too):

Nov 04, 200 -- whoops! -- 2010  [See, friends, I couldn't even remember what year it was, much less what all I was supposed to do that particular day!]

Oh, Papa!  I am so frustrated with me!  I'm sitting here surrounded by gold-glittered and sequined miniature high heels and shiny black "Princess" magnets . . . sheer skinny black ribbon with white polka dots -- laced through the loop on the back of the heels ornaments -- waits to tie it all together . . . ugh!  These are NOT the weights I choose to be encumbered with, and yet, I AM.  Weighed down, that is.  Burdened.  With glitter.  How utterly silly is this?  Yes, utterly!  

I must make better, wiser choices.

Okay, here's what was goin' on.  Every First-Thursday-of-November, our women's ministry at church hosts something wonderful that we call The Tapestry Dinner.  There are oodles of big round tables for eight set up throughout the fellowship hall and the emptied-out chapel, and each one is hosted and DECORATED by a different woman, and it is a feast for the eyes!  Each table has a unique personality (directly related to its hostess, of course) and theme, and, "Oh, my!" (as my little friend from Tennessee would say), the creativity!  (Women begin pouring in way before the appointed dinner hour just so they have time to take in all of the table schemes -- I'm telling you, IT IS FABULOUS!)  And, just in case you're wondering, yes, every woman brings her own dishes, flatware, glassware, etc., but the meal -- everything from the salad to the dessert -- is served up on clear plastic-ware that's then placed on the hostesses own tableware so that the diner gets the effect of the beautiful plates but the hostess doesn't end up dragging home a bunch of dirty dishes.  (Just our flatware and glasses, but that's no biggie.)


Sistas, I do looooove to decorate!  But ya'll also know that my main work is over at the School House.  (Usually until 5:30 or 6:00 each evening.) So for the past couple of years that I've hosted a table, I've packed up my stuff into plastic bins, my sweet St. Michael has hauled them up to the Church House, and then my fellow sista-hostesses have set up my table for me, leaving only the fun, final decorating tweaks for me to do.  (Ya'll also know that I'm not much on work -- I just like the fun stuff -- so, of course, this has worked out perfectly for me.)


Well, I digress, but I just tell ya'll that, so's you'll understand where I was the other morning as I wrote those "I'm so frustrated with me" words.  I hadn't really planned to do a table, but my friend, the director of women's ministries, said she really needed me to (and you know that people in ministry never exaggerate or lie), and well, I'm a sucker for a pretty face (Lora is a doll), so, of course, I said I would . . . with not one idea or thought in the world as to what I would do for my particular table this year . . . and did I mention that I went out of town (to Canton's First Monday!) the weekend before the dinner?  (My sista, Beverly, and I kept telling each other that it was research for our tables.)


So Wednesday night I'm finally putting together my plan (yeah, and the dinner is Thursday, you did read that correctly), trying to find all my stuff, and runnin' off to Dollar Tree to find glittery high heel Christmas ornaments and then painting "Princess" magnets and then remembering, too, that -- CRAP! (Hey, I'm just being honest here) -- grades are due at the School House this coming Monday . . . and all the while wondering if this dinner table thing was even something I was supposed to be doing.  (Please read those last few words in a verrrrrrrry spiritual tone of voice.)  ARGHHHH!


[Okay, I feel better now.  Let's go on . . .  ]


It all sounds funny now, but, trust me, when I was trying to get up on Thursday morning and running back and forth between the School House and Casa St. Michael during my off period and lunch break and then loading up my stuff and hauling it up to the church house and sweatin' like a hog in my cute long-sleeved (what was I thinkin?) funky top while throwing plates and glasses and shoes (I'll explain in a minute) on my table, I was NOT laughing!


For the record, my table was freaking adorable!  I found and printed out a verse in Song of Solomon that says, "How beautiful are your feet in their shoes, O king's daughter!  The curves of your legs are like jewels, the work of the hand of a good workman" (7:1, Bible in Basic English), and I used all kinds of fabulous, funky stiletto heels (that belong to Baby Daughter) as the centerpiece.  (I know it sounds weird, but, trust me, it was  C - U - T - E - N- E - S - S  to the max!  Maybe I can post a picture later.)  But, y'see, that's part of the problem.  It all turned out okay, so I'm tempted to do this craziness again next year!


That's why it's sooooo hard to determine when to say "yes" and when to say "no" to things.  I'm old enough to have learned that sometimes we need to say "no" to even good things because that's just not where our focus needs to be at a particular time.  Or should I -- knowing that a good thing is coming up -- and that I'll probably want to do that good thing -- plan ahead and thus plan better?  (And, therefore, not let the glitter get so under my skin, so to speak, 'cause it feels so last minute?)


Heck, I don't know!  THIS is why it's so hard being a woman.  A woman who loves glitter and cuteness but loves the Lord more and just wants to shine where He wants me to shine but who, alas, sometimes lets herself get too busy to hear where, exactly, that is.


Girlfriends, I know you've been there too.  Maybe are there right now.  Well, sistas, I, for one, am determining to listen better.  After all -- GASP! -- did I mention that The Holidays are coming?  (And we don't wanna miss 'em 'cause we're so crazy-busy thinking that WE are the reason for the season, that WE have to make 'em happen!)


Listen.  Listen up.


I think I might hear a few dozen eleven-, twelve-, and thirteen-year olds who need me . . .


Be still for a minute.  Listen.  What are you hearing, my sweet sistas?


Trying to shine in all the right places,
Pamm

Early Morning Thoughts

There are mornings I need Jesus more than I need sleep.

Sabbath . . . maybe not

(And yes, this is me.  Why do you ask?)

This may be too long and serious for many of you to read, but after reading Shaun Groves' post this morning on being discerning, I decided that I had to write this.  Yep.  I had to.  (And by the way, if you read Shaun's post, the comments are as interesting as the post . . . love this man!)


I don't remember how I found it, but I recently connected to another blog, The Bloom Book Club whose creators are two absolutely adorable young women, Jessica Turner (whose husband, Matthew, has his own thought-provoking blog, Jesus Needs New PR, that I find myself roaming around in from time to time) and Angie Smith (whose husband, Todd, makes gorgeous music with the group Selah.  Yeah, that group!).  The Bloom Club's beautiful, softly-soothing-girly-pink opening page greets readers with words I like to think I live by: "Bloom . . . read.  discuss.  grow." 


In fact, I could've sworn that it was Jessica and Angie who encouraged me to buy David Platt's Radical, a book I not only loved (though it stomped all over my heart) but immediately began buying copies of to give to others who, I hoped, would also devour it (and allow it to stomp around on their hearts!).  But now I don't see it listed among their recommended books list, so maybe it was another on-line book club, I don't know.  (Arghhhh, the joys of being at the tropical time of one's life . . . can't remember anything.)   At any rate, thinking it WAS they who had recommended the latest book-of-my-heart, when they recommended Wayne Muller's Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in our Busy Lives, it was a no-brainer that I immediately clicked onto the Amazon link and ordered a copy.  (I mean, who of us couldn't use more rest, renewal, and delight in our often crazily busy lives?) 


After one of my own insanely hectic days earlier this week, I finally grabbed Sabbath, fresh from its wrapping, spine-as-yet-uncreased, and headed to the bedroom.  After shutting the door to the baseball playoffs being beamed into the den, sandblasting off that morning's makeup and replacing it with something that promised to overnight renew my aging epidermis, I fluffed my pillows just so, and finally climbed into bed with the book that promised me some insight on renewing everything else.  


From the first few lines, something about the writing style demanded more concentration that I had hoped to have to put forth at the end of the day, but it got easier as I pushed on through the paragraphs.  Page 1 . . . yes . . . page 2 . . . I so agreed . . . page 3 . . . yup . . . page 6 . . . really liked . . . And, in fact, I was really getting into a good flow with Muller until I hit a small bump at page 7.  In the second full paragraph there, Muller writes, "When we act from a place of deep rest, we are more capable of cultivating what the Buddhists would call right understanding, right action, and right effort."


Interesting reference, I thought, but not totally unheard of for a scholarly writer and ordained minister to use another faith's tenets to make a point.  I continued.


"In a complex world and unstable world, if we do not rest, if we do not surrender into some kind of Sabbath, how can we find our way, how can we hear the voices that tell us the right thing to do?"


Whoa.  Hold the horses.  Voices?  As in plural?  Aren't there medications for that?  


I slowed my roll and began stepping a little more cautiously through the following paragraphs.  


Must've been just a bump in the road.  After all, page 8 was fine . . . But then I skidded again on page 9:


"When Muslims are called to prayer five time each day, all work ceases, and all the ancient words, spoken aloud for centuries rise like fragrance to the skies."   


Okay.  I'm not the most educated or the best self-taught or even the smartest or most discerning reader, but I couldn't help but wonder if Muller's "like fragrance to the skies" description of Muslim prayers was meant as an allusion to much of what is said in the Old Testament about the "sweet fragrance" of offerings sacrificed before God.  Ezekiel even writes of God's referring to His people as "fragrant incense" (20:41).  Paul refers to Christ, Himself, as a "fragrant offering and sacrifice" made on our behalf (Ephesians 5:2).  He also refers to the gifts from the Philippians as a "fragrant offering and sacrifice pleasing to God" (Philippians 4:18). In the Revelation, John writes of incense rising up with the "prayers of the saints" (5:8, 8:3). 


I could go on and on, and I'm sure there are those who would say that I'm reading too much into the phrase and that maybe Muller's "to the skies" doesn't even mean anything close to "God."  But I don't think so.  What else could "to the skies" mean when it's used with "prayers"?  And if that is the case, that Muller is inferring that connection, then Muller is essentially describing the ritualistic prayers of Muslims as something pleasing to God when scripture tells us something quite the opposite.  Repeatedly, thoughout the Old Testament, scripture says that the sacrifices and offerings of those who worship anyone or anything other than God, Himself, are not acceptable to Him.  He wants our hearts.  And since the Messiah came, we are told that there is but one way into relationship with the Father -- through Messiah, His Son, Jesus.  That is no where to be found in the religion of Islam. 


A couple of paragraphs further, Muller writes 


"In Buddhism, one takes refuge in the Buddha nature, and in the wisdom of the Buddha and in the family of the Buddha.  And so doing, we join the company of all those who have sought healing and liberation, we surrender into that place where Buddha-nature already lives within us, and we align our intention with our innate, natural perfection.  Thus when we sit in meditation, all the saints and ancestors send us loving-kindness, as they accompany our each and every breath" (italicized emphasis mine).


In the very next paragraph, he writes, "Jesus offered this same beautiful practice to his disciples."


Okay, that's it.  I'm off the horse.  Down from the wagon.  Out of the car. 


I go back to the Jessica and Angie's website.  I see that concerns similar to mine have been registered at the The Bloom Club's website, and Jessica and Angie have acknowledged those concerns and addressed them.  They stand by their choice, explaining that there is so much "amazing" stuff to learn from the book and that, besides, Muller is simply quoting (their italics) these other religions.  


If that were the case, I wouldn't have a problem with the book.  But I think you can see from even the few parts I've quoted directly from his book that Muller does not appear to be simply quoting other religions. Rather, as one who writes, "In the evening, turn it over to the care of God, the angels, and all the Buddhas, all the spirits of the earth and sky" (170), Muller appears to indeed be accepting and embracing all of those other beliefs as peers and equals to belief in Christ.  All of that is well and good if you are a Unitarian Universalist.  I am not. 


While I've already acknowledged that there are some paragraphs and full pages that I can appreciate, and possibly, who knows, perhaps even a few nuggets of gold in the remaining chapters, my time is just too limited to have to dig and sift through so much for so little.  (Ironically, Muller's Sabbath would cut into my Sabbath.)


Grinning and trying to be discerning,


Pamm

Prayer at 4:30

In my hurry for holiness, don't let me mistake feeling for filling . . .

Slow me down that I may not miss one drop of You. Open every crevice and the secret dark places that I may truly be filled to overflowing with Your Spirit. Pour Yourself into me, and may I pour myself right back into You . . .

Cup my face in Your hands and kiss good-morning life onto and into my sleepy features.