31 Days of Courage: Courage In A Time Of Ebola And Beheadings

These times we're living in, they could get a girl down in the dumps.

But really, it's been ever thus.  Every age has its nightmares.

Finding the good in this jumbled up world - finding beauty, that's an inside job.  There will always be pressures, obstacles and darkness to oppose the human race.  It started at the Fall.  It will end at the Return.

It will take a tough mental and spiritual courage to experience a world of school shootings, Ebola and televised beheadings, and still stand and find joy in the marred, but unmistakeable beauty of the original.  It will take determination to accept the reality of the shipwreck, but still give thanks for the island, with it's provisions of blue sky, coconuts and most of all, the other folks who are the greatest gifts of all.

There's a scripture that is so simple, and so profound, that says succinctly what I can't express in a thousand words:

"Where sin did abound, grace did more abound."  Romans 5:20

Yesterday at my nephew's 3rd birthday party, several grown ups (including my husband of course), spent an hour with a 5 year old goofing around with a huge balloon in the shape of the number 3.  Every body got yoked into that balloon, cracking up, turned every which way, pictures taken, nuttiness in all its glory.

Where sin did abound, grace did more abound.

On the way home through the Berkshires, the 6 o'clock sky was streaked with a blending of colors no painter could produce with the most state-of-the-art palette ever manufactured.  A tiny sliver of moon looked like what Smitty describe as a little "crack in the sky".  I couldn't even absorb the whole beauty of it as we crossed those gentle mountains.

Where sin did abound, grace did more abound.

When we stepped out of the car (which took us 90 miles in an hour and a half), the smell of fall in upstate New York wafted subtle into our noses, leaves that blessed us with shade all summer now blessing again with the fragrance of autumn.

Where sin did abound, grace did more abound.

Grace, grace, grace everywhere.  But I miss it every day.  It takes a little pulling up of the suspenders of courage to stand up against cynicism and to hunt for and embrace good.  And it takes that same courage to slow down enough from the ridiculous pace of this rat race to witness the wonders that are his merciful gifts to us in a world of Ebola, beheadings and every other ill the shipwreck brought with it.

Take a rest on this Sabbath. Bravely lay down the complaints and the cynicism, and be counter cultural.  Abound in all the grace.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: The Courage To Be Brief Or Even Shut Up Altogether

No one knows better than I do the tendency toward being a blowhard.

Lots of times people who don't know when to shut up are simply insecure, and desperately want to be understood.  They often feel so sure they will be misunderstood that they say the same thing a few different ways, until those listening are looking around furtively for the nearest exit.

My poor husband, I think I've seen that look in his eyes a thousand times...

It's entirely possible I was born talking.  I can't remember a time when I didn't feel a drive to communicate. All human beings have this to some degree.  We are relational at our core, made in the image of a relational God.  But some of us definitely get the expression thing twisted up a bit, and like the drinker with his drink and the foodie with her food, we become the wordy with our words.

I've been on both ends of this thing, so you'd think I'd have learned by now.

The times I've bitten my tongue have been far too few.  But when I have, when I let go of having to make sure everyone knows I'm not dumb, or realized if my opinion wasn't considered it would be ok: those moments have taken a bit of moxie.  It is far easier to open one's mouth than to keep it closed.

Of course there is an opposing problem to talking too much and listening too little: not speaking up when we ought.  I've addressed that problem in another blog, and the courage needed to speak up is easier to define than what I'm spelling out here.  Being brave enough to be quiet is far more subtle.  No one will know when you've measured your response and swallowed your pride.  That courage becomes an unseen virtue.  Those are the ones that really construct the metal of a man.  Those opportunities for holding back and listening up happen just about every day.  Those small victories of putting the other guy first make for a more civilized world.

I took on this 31 day writing challenge because I really do believe God was directing me to write for the sake of it, to practice this beloved craft, and to tell the truth.  The danger is always that I will say more than is necessary to communicate whatever I'm writing about.  I try hard not to do that.  I hear the voice of my NYU writing professor in my ears lo these 32 years later:

"Just tell the truth in the clearest way you can."

God bless Mark Dickerman.  When all us college students were trying to have a "style", he spoke those few words that changed the way I write forever.  He said by being honest and clear, we wouldn't be able to help but have our own style.  Because each person is designed differently, and when they strive for clarity, who they are comes out as a natural byproduct.

Maybe that will help somebody today.  Have the courage to tell the truth, or to keep your two cents out this time.  Oh, how I preach to myself in these posts!

One of America's greatest communicators, indeed one of the bravest leaders in American history said this:

"I am the master of my unspoken thoughts, and the slave to those things which should have remained unsaid."  ~ Abraham Lincoln

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: The Courage To Love On In A World Gone Cold

It’s the 24th day of this 31 day challenge, and today’s post is heavy on me.

I took the day off from work today with the sole purpose of withdrawing from the madness for a little while, to seek God for some perplexing questions I have; to slow down and breathe deep and remember why the heck I’m here anyway.

To begin with gratitude is always the way to start.  I am a blessed woman.  I am more grateful than I can say for the love I have in my life from a thousand corners.  My eternal destiny is secure.  I have way more than my daily bread.  Every hard place and every difficult trial is only sandpaper in the hands of the Master Carpenter, who will show the good work in His good time.  So I have no complaints.

But there is a weight.  And you and I need courage and strength for this burden, because it continues to grow with no end in sight.  

“Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold, but he who stands firm to the end will be saved.”  Matthew 24:12-13

There’s a fire in the fireplace, pumpkin candles burning and a space to pray and read the sacred word.  I’m warm and thankful.  But the truth is I’m not so strong when I walk outside to the Arctic chill Jesus saw coming from eternity past.  I shiver out there.  The world is moving at breakneck speed on the road to nowhere, and people are often downright mean.  Uncaring.  Cold as ice.  When you live in an icy world, it’s oh so easy to protect yourself in layers of fur, and to hunker down and determine not to send an ounce of warmth out to that world to be rejected and snuffed out.

But that is not the way.

Oh courage, be my companion in this internal war to choose to love regardless of the outcome!  To feel the cold wind is painful, but to be the cold wind is far worse.

You are sharing this planet today with folks who are so lonely, broken, distressed and angry that they have no capacity to give love.  The only hope is that they might receive some, and that the light and warmth of that most beautiful power will begin to thaw the frozen heart.  There is no other cure.  Love is the remedy for a thoughtless, ungrateful, ugly world.  

These words are not flowing from the mind of a woman who has found her way with unconditional love, but from one who longs with every fiber of her being to be willing to humble herself to give it.

When I said good night to a coworker, and they gave the cold shoulder, I determined that was the last time I would feel that little rejection.  When I left a small gift on someone’s desk and it was returned without a word, I shut down a little more.  When I listened for the hundredth time to a demanding, graceless person wanting someone to blame, and apparently thinking I’d be just as good as anyone else, I hardened myself yet again.  When liberal grace was extended to a family member, only to be returned with ingratitude, I was done.

Those things and many more, all of which I’ll bet you have experienced in some way, shape or form brought me home today.  I could feel the cold getting into my bones, and I needed some perspective right quick before I hurt myself or someone else badly.  And worse still, before I hardened my heart toward my dear heavenly Father, who commands us to be bold and strong, and to fight the ice age with a fire against which no winter can contend.

These extended hours in the Bible, these hours quiet with God have renewed my strength.  They have given me the courage to forgive the wrongs done me, to be forgiven for the wrongs done, and to step out again into the tundra, with my little torch.  

This problem is not solved.  It must be visited over and over again, and there need to be many more times of sitting still with the One who faced the absolute zero of the cold of hell, and remains the Great Lover of all time.  He alone can give us the courage to stay warm.

That we might be brave enough to love without reciprocity.  That we might stand firm to the end.  

And be warm in our hearts for the sake of many.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: Endurance, The Heart Of Courage

“Men Wanted: For hazardous journey. Small wages, bitter cold, long months of complete darkness, constant danger, safe return doubtful.  Honour and recognition in case of success.”
― Ernest Shackleton

Sir Ernest Shackleton and the crew of The Endurance

 

Of all the sub headings under the virtue of courage, none captivates me more than endurance.

 Courage encompasses so many beautiful and awe inspiring deeds, but for some reason the courage to persevere is to me the loveliest of all.

 In 1914, Irish born Ernest Shackleton started out on an expedition doomed to fail.  Of course he didn’t know that going in.  He had a state of the art ship, and crackerjack crew, and the experience necessary to reach his lofty goal: a continental crossing of Antarctica.

 Sailing on the aptly named sea- vessel  Endurance, Shackleton and his men set off for the deepest regions of the south of this planet as the rest of the world embarked on a great and terrible war.  Shackleton and his men would soon be fighting a war of their own: to survive.

 Through  1000 miles of ice pack in the unpredictable Weddell Sea, the Endurance sailed on.

 And then, one day from its destination, the ship simply got stuck in the ice.  Temperatures began to drop dramatically.  The ship’s storekeeper wrote: “She was like an almond in a piece of toffee.”

 That was January, 1915.  Summer in Antarctica.

 From February to October 1915, the men of the Endurance waited through the 24 hour darkness of Antarctic winter to see if their ship would become free or crushed as the ice flow broke up in the spring.  After months of anxiety and strain, Endurance began to crack and implode from the indomitable weight of nature’s frozen ocean.  Abandoning ship with as many supplies as they could drag across the unstable ice flows in their little life boats, Shackleton and his crew were only just beginning their real test of endurance.

 Navigating on drifting ice, with a limited food suppy (they eventually had to eat their sled dogs), suffering from cold and exhaustion, Shackleton’s men persevered.   497 days since they had set foot on real land, they rowed their beleaguered crew, all still alive, in lifeboats onto Elephant Island, a rock in the Weddell Sea.  Conditions became more and more appalling,  and the unbelievably brave Shackleton made a bold decision.  The only hope of rescue lie in an 800 mile open boat crossing to the nearest whaling center on South Georgia Island. 

 Leaving most of the men behind, he took 2 crew members with the most rudimentary navigational tools through a storm to finally arrive on the wrong side of the island.  Then a climb in threadbare clothes and shoes over the  mountains.  Then finding a ship to help them go back to pick up the men.  And I’m leaving out a thousand painful details because this would be a 15 page post otherwise.

 On August 30, 1917, every man on Elephant Island was brought to safety by the unrelenting courage of their captain, Ernest Shackleton.  It is a story you must see. (There’s a marvelous NOVA version available, which beats out the fictional adaptation by a mile).

 It had been nearly 3 years since anyone anywhere had heard from the crew of the Endurance.  The encouragement of that great leader, Ernest Shackleton, was the key to their profound success.  Perhaps their original mission failed, but there was no failure for the brave captain and crew of the Endurance.

 Endurance is the heart of courage. 

 To carry on for extended time, holding on to a shred of hope, carrying your cross and putting one foot in front of the other, this is where the rubber meets the pilgrim road.

 “Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, for when he has stood the test he will achieve the crown of life which God has promised to those who love him.”  James 1:12

 That we would all persevere, come what may, like our great, encouraging Captain of All before us…

 Your friend on the pilgrim road,

 Loriann

31 Days of Courage: The Courage To Climb The Right Ladder

“She’s the kind of girl who climbed the ladder of success wrong by wrong.”  ~ Mae West

(That quote cracked me up...from Mae West no less!)

I want to say at the outset that I’m pro-success.  I love to see people find something they’re good at, that is satisfying to them, and God bless them too if they can make loads of money doing it.  (More on that in a minute)*.

It seems though, that in Western culture most of us have our ladders leaning on the wrong walls, and we climb them in the wrong direction.  It has taken me my entire adult life and some seriously difficult seasons to figure out that many of our aspirations are completely wrongheaded.  Making it to some well-planned goal, achieving a long held dream, experiencing what the world we inhabit calls success is taking a secondary thing and putting it in first place.  These blessings ought to be the good fallout of living with right priorities. (And there are no guarantees there either).  But it takes a great deal of courage to step out of our sin stained, self-loving shoes and choose the ladder less travelled. 

You’ve got to be brave to climb the right ladder.   Because you’ll be going against a hurricane force wind from the opposite direction.

I bet there’s someone out there thinking: “Who the heck is she to say what the right ladder is?”  And they’d be right.  But I’m just here to report what the Director of the Universe says:

“Seek ye FIRST the kingdom of God, and His righteousness, and all these other things will be added unto you.”  Matthew 6:33

I’m not even talking to non-believers here.  I’m talking to people like me, who love God, and have a relationship with Him, and who've messed this thing up countless times.  I’m appalled at the way I’m swept up in the culture, how I fear man , and spend so much of my conscious life seeking after comfort, security and acceptability until I’m sick to death of myself.  To rise in the opinion of others for the sake of being admired is pride. Wanting to be the top, not to serve but to be served, is pride.  Wanting a home others envy or children you can boast in to your peers or letters following your name so you can feel a wee bit superior is pride. No sense dressing it up in some euphemistic blarney.  Facts are stubborn things.

Climbing the ladder Jesus describes means climbing DOWN:

“He who is greatest among you should be the servant of all.”  Matthew 23:11

When God in the flesh stoops down to wash and dry the filthy feet of his friends, that ends all discussion of what greatness really is.  We’ve got the whole fandango royally backwards.

If you have a place of authority, climbing higher means going lower.  If you’ve been blessed with wealth, climbing higher means digging deeper into those pockets for the sake of the poor.*  If you are gifted in any way, climbing higher means freely distributing that gift for the sake of others.  And if you don’t think this way of life requires a large dose of courage, I’d like to check your pulse. 

I think I shocked someone I’m acquainted with when last week I mentioned to him that his gifts and position were a marvelous opportunity to serve others.  This is a man the culture would say is wildly successful.  I’m not sure he ever even thought of it that way before…that it really isn’t about him at all.  God knows I’ve got to remember that truth every day. But he’s been so indoctrinated into our wrong direction ladder theology that he’ll have to be awfully gallant and resolute to move his ladder to another wall.

It’s just this friends:  It takes courage to go against the tide of power, materialism, intellectual superiority, artistic snobbery, worldly beauty and a whole host of other twisted priorities to get the dang thing right.  There is only one right ladder of success, and that ladder leans on a wall called The Kingdom of God.  Each person will have something different to do on those rungs, but they all move in the same direction: down. 

That’s not down in some joyless, woe is me, martyr kind of way either.  It’s the greatest ladder of success the world has ever known.

Remember that the most successful man of all time said:

 "He who loses his life for my sake will gain it...and what profit is it if a man gains the whole world but loses his soul?"  Matthew 16:25-26

 Lots of times, because we were greatly blessed to be born in America, we get all sorts of other icing on the cake of true success.  But the minute we start looking for those things as the primary goal, we’ve leaned our ladder on the wrong wall again.

 This is a daily effort, and not for the faint of heart.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: The Courage Not To Get It All Right

It’s the plague of the first born.

OK, not just the first born, lots of other people too.

I was reading some of the comments of other folks involved in this 31 day challenge, and it struck me how we all have a bit of a different take on this crash writing bonanza.

Some people just decided to skip the weekends and are perfectly ok with that.  Those bloggers are really relaxed and secure and are having a ball.

Some are finding it difficult to write on one topic and keep the quality of the content.  They reach out to others for ideas and encouragement.  They stumble about a little with complete authenticity regarding their struggles and successes.

And some, well probably mostly the first born crowd, sweat, take notes, determine to write a certain number of words every day, and never miss a day, no matter what.

Art (or in my case and my opinion, it’s more craft) imitates life.  Every person has to find their groove and do what they are put together to do.  But it’s not at all linear and clean.  There are days when the whole thing flows like the Hudson down Mount Marcy, and those other days when it’s more like pick axing up the side of Mount Crumpit (who gets that reference?).  Most of us will look back and say of the story of our lives “I wish I had written that bit a little differently” (or a lot differently), or “That paragraph was a complete mess…” or maybe “I’m done with with this story…I can’t get it right.”

And here’s where courage comes in to play.  Because in this little microcosm of the 31 day challenge I have experienced all of these emotions through the tip of my “must get it all right” pen.  It’s completely ridiculous to expect every day to be your buttoned up best.  Maybe we’re tired, or the check engine light is back on in the car, or we've got the Coxsacki virus coming on…any of a myriad of the foibles of life that make our days less than ideal.  Not to mention the downright earth shattering "work stoppages".

There is courage in saying with peace in our hearts:

I did my best today. Even if my best wasn't all that great.

You have nothing to prove, because you are loved by the One who approves of you exactly as you are.

With that comes freedom to find our way through failure and fallout, because we’re not working to be loved, but because we’re loved we’re working. 

I promised myself when I joined these 31 days, that I would write for the One who has given me the love of communication and words.  I really do love to write.  Or should I say as Dorothy Parker said, “I love HAVING written”.  But I admit I've got the first born tendancies.  I always wish I'd done better.  

There’s a freedom in not having to be great.  To simply be and do for the sake of being and doing.  

Whatever your life looks like, whatever strange turns, however many mundane stretches or confusing patches, press on.  Do your best, even if today’s best isn’t as lovely as yesterday’s or tomorrow’s.

It’s a big story, and you aren’t the Author anyway.  You’ll be amazed when you see how His grace and mercy edit the thing to make it a splendid chronicle in the end.

That was the point of the Jesus' best day...which was the same day as His worst day.  He got it all right for our sakes.

Be brave enough to lay down your pride and know it’s ok not to get it all right.

Your first- born friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: The Courage To Lighten Up

I get mixed up by those different personality types.  Especially choleric.  What the heck is choleric?  I could probably Google it but it’s Sunday afternoon and I want to keep the electronic buzz to a minimum.

There is one personality type I’m extremely familiar with, though, because it lives in my skin.

Melancholic. 

That crying prophet Jeremiah, he was a melancholic too.  Apt to see the darker side.  Apt to think things through until they’re like a chicken boiled in a pot for 3 days straight.  Worst of all, apt to take ourselves way too seriously.

It’s so hard to lighten up when you’re all wired to sort out.  You’ve got to dig around, search your soul, ponder and contemplate until you’re “dead in the water”.  (Quote belongs to my son David).

For people like me, lightening up, reading the funny papers, playing a game, actually require an effort I would say is akin to courage, if not courage itself.  I can’t explain it except to say that if you are a person like me, you know what I mean.  It’s like being a catcher, and being asked to pitch a few innings.  It requires stepping out of that heavy gear and getting out of that crouchy position and letting a few things simply fly.  For you Tigger’s out there it seems like a no brainer.  But for us Eeyore's, it really is a step of faith.

The Word of God of course is replete with the principles of perfect balance in life.  It’s right there in the Proverbs, plain as day:

“A merry heart doeth good like a medicine; but a broken spirit drieth the bones.”  ~Proverbs 17:22

My husband, who has every good reason to sing the Blues as he works through daily pain from his run in with an intoxicated man in a 3 ton pick-up truck, has been God’s instrument of grace for my overly sober leanings.  Smitty was born with a laugh in his heart.  Heaven knows I would have worn nothing but black lo these grown up years if I had married a man like me.  Just this morning he showed me a funny comic, and got me to play a card game before my melancholic daughter shuffled back to Buffalo.  That man makes me happy every day.

Don’t get me wrong: I truly believe we are all put together in whatever way pleases God.  There is great beauty that has come from the melancholics of this world.  I simply think there is an ebb and flow to our natures, and a need for a hearty laugh, a good party, a goofy dance. 

Just sayin’, it doesn’t come natural to some of us.  We desperately need you wonderful, mirthful folks who can pull us off our tour bus of the tragic and take us to the fun house.  Give us a little courage to try on a different outfit.  Even if it’s only for a little while.

I bless all the wonderful people in my life who don’t let me take myself so seriously.

And I especially bless my God, who is chomping at the bit for all of us to come, dance, be merry, have a banquet, and rejoice and laugh for eternity. 

In just a little while.

Still, He wants us to have a measure of fun here too!  It just might take a bit of brave to do some bouncing.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: The Courage To Wake Up

That old prophet Isaiah, he’s blowing reveille this morning.

Indeed, the alarm to wake up keeps coming.  It passes through all the books of the Great Book, right to the end.  Especially at the end.

Here I am, tapping words down in a language unknown to Isaiah, in a time when drowsiness and sleep have a firm hold on this suffering world.  And I of all people, one who needs to rub the sleep out of my own eyes, here I stretch from sleep for a few paragraphs on a topic that would fill the volumes of every book in every library.  Perhaps this particular post is really just for me.

How often have I lived through a day, asleep to the truth of my purpose there?  That the glory of God, the souls of men, and indeed the growing and gracing of my own soul are at stake while I remain asleep. 

Asleep, making breakfast, without gratitude and awareness of the gracious hand that prospered the wheat of the earth so I could have my bagel.

Turning the ignition in my car, heedless to the One who made the mind of man so great that he could design such a useful machine.

Living and working with other mortals, forgetting they are eternal beings, to be treated with honor.  To be cared for and understood.  To be forgiven.  And to seek forgiveness from. 

Indeed, to be awake to the brevity of life, to its meaning down to the peeling of the apple at lunch.  To be alive and aware that this world and everything in it is a gift of God.   That even my worst pain drives me to Him, and will not allow me to go down to a deathly slumber.

To vomit up the sleeping pills of materialism, human accolades and silly dreams of comfort so I can spend this aging body in the pursuit of lasting reality.

To open my eyes, pull off the covers, and be willing to get out of the hazy warmth of just following the rules and stepping into the brisk awakening air of bold living.  I hear you Isaiah, I hear the bugle call.

And I hear my ancient brother the Apostle Paul, through these sleepy ears:

“Be very careful then, how you live- not as unwise, but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil.”  Ephesians 5: 16

And just one verse before this he says:

“Wake up O sleeper, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.” (vs. 15)

Very convicted I am this morning, as I push aside the dullness in me.  I will sing loud today at church, and be glad even in my sorrows.  And with thanksgiving for my coffee, and my struggles and the leaves all over my front lawn, waiting to be raked.

When the test comes as it surely will, I pray I will hear the bugle boy of God in my ears for the sake of those who are dead asleep.  That come what may, I will have courage to live the Gospel, even if thought a fool.  That one day many will stand with me, by grace alone, by the blood of Christ alone, before the Almighty One.

Awake and alive for all eternity.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: The Courage To Leave It All Behind

I woke up this morning with lots of baggage in my head.  I know you know what I mean. 

Like everyone else, I have 24 hours in a day.  Like most people, I feel squeezed and pressed for time. This morning the rush of thoughts slammed into me like a 747.  The stuff at work not done (it will never be done).  The people I want to have for dinner (that list will go on until they’re having dinner after my funeral).  The closet uncleaned, the bushes unclipped, the groceries unbought. 

And then there are the worries.  About my kids.  About money.  About the future.  BAM.  I mean my eyes have been opened for 10 seconds and I’m already slammed.  The enemy of our souls wastes no time in accusing us.  He starts first thing, hoping (if that foul thing can hope) that we will stay there, twisted up and torn up, without peace and forgetting Whose children he’s messing with.

C.S. Lewis said this, and bless him, he didn’t know back before I was born how these words would sustain me:

“It comes the very moment you wake up each morning. All your wishes and hopes for the day rush at you like wild animals. And the first job each morning consists simply in shoving them all back; in listening to that other voice, taking that other point of view, letting that other larger, stronger, quieter life come flowing in. And so on, all day. Standing back from all your natural fussings and frettings; coming in out of the wind.”

This is going to sound weird, but there’s something about fretting that can be comfortable.  There’s a familiarity to it, and a twisted sense of control it carries.  All a complete lie, of course, but a powerful one.  The only way to battle that sucker is with the truth.

And the truth is this:  We don’t even control the next breath we take.  Every morsel of food we eat comes from the hand of God.  Every job we have he provided.  (No man has a right to arrogance, for every man lives by grace alone.  Even if he doesn’t recognize it).

To let go of fretting and that sense of control takes real courage.  A relative of mine once said something that stuck all these years later from a time when she was going through a really difficult patch in her life. She said letting go “felt like I was falling off a cliff…but it turned out to be like I was tied to a bungee cord and I never did slam into the rocks below.”  Her faith sustained her.

This morning I have 2 choices.

Hold on to my false sense of control, fret on, and be perfectly miserable.

Or, leave it all behind, be grateful, find the good, and trust my Jesus, come what may.

Believe me when I tell you I’ve taken option 1 far too many days on this brief sojourn.

Today, my baby girl is home for the weekend.  Since the terrible accident of 2009, there is still plenty to fret about.  There is plenty of brokenness, trouble and heartache.

But for today, we will be going apple picking in the rain, sharing apple cider donuts and reminiscing with the wooden Indian at the farm we’ve gone to every autumn since our babies were babies.

Today, I’m praying for the courage to leave it all behind.

Standing back from all my natural fussings and frettings…and coming in out of the wind.  Praise be to God, who always leads us in triumphant procession in Christ!

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

31 Days of Courage: The Courage to Swim Upstream

Here’s a quote by a wonderful author and blogger whose words have many a day given me courage:

"Any dead fish can go with the flow — you have to be intentionally alive to swim against the current." 

~ Ann Voskamp

This post is going to offend some people.  And believe me when I say I have no intention and no motivation whatsoever to be offensive.  I try very hard to stick to universal truths in my blog posts, and to stay away from politics and touchy subjects.  Not because I don’t have strong beliefs, but because I believe my little calling in these daily scribbles has always been to bring encouragement for everyday people in their everyday world.  Other  folks, much smarter and far better educated than I have the grand calling of the big picture. 

But Ann Voskamp’s quote, not to mention her fearless and grace filled writing, have given me some courage to tackle a topic highly controversial but deadly important.  And I’m scared because I might be misunderstood, accused of being judgmental, and instantly dismissed.  These are all things that push the chicken buttons of my heart.

So with fear and trembling  I want to spend just a few paragraphs today in defense of the defenseless.  And in the age we are living in even mentioning this horrendously painful topic is most definitely swimming upstream.  But I don’t want to be a dead fish.

Since 1973, approximately 57 million unborn children in the United States of America have been denied an opportunity to take their first breath.  There probably isn’t much sense in going over the arguments surrounding this silent holocaust, euphemistically referred to as “women’s reproductive rights”.  Those who defend the practice of abortion and those who oppose it often cannot be moved.  And I’m sure I will change no one’s mind today.  My point here is that there is a cultural tide moving in the opposite direction to those who stand firmly in the defense of life.  We must be willing to be thought of as intolerant, judgmental and pharisaical.  We must swim against the stream and accept the consequences.  And above all, we must not become ungracious and mean spirited in our unshakable grip on the truth.  One can run into the wind without spitting into it.

Yesterday I wrote about encouragement.  The giving of courage to another.  And who needs it more than a woman who finds herself with an unplanned, unwanted pregnancy.  It takes a tremendously brave person to risk her reputation (although that’s not as big a factor here in the 21^st century), her career, or a relationship to give the gift of life to another small, helpless human being.   It takes even more courage to then place that child in the loving arms of an adoptive mother.  That kind of courage, self- sacrificing and profound, is what elevates our humanity.  It is like the fire fighters who went up the stairs of the World Trade Center to rescue the helpless ones inside.  They were willing to risk everything to save those souls.  Beautiful in the extreme.

There is no easy when it comes to courage.  It is not neat and clean like it looks in the movies.  Courage costs big time, and not just in ways that can be seen, but in emotional losses that can last a lifetime.  The strength to carry a baby to term, and then give that child away requires great endurance and willingness to accept loss.    It demands being intentionally alive, feeling a million feelings, and swimming against the current.  

Smitty and I regularly support a ministry called Alpha Center, which devotes itself to meeting the physical, psychological and spiritual needs of women who make the brave choice to keep their babies, and also to bring comfort and hope to those who have already experienced the devastation of having had an abortion.  This is where the pedal meets the medal.  How are we going to be there for the mother who makes the hard choice, and the one whose courage was battered? 

I know it’s a complicated issue.  So were the international  politics of 9-11.  But that didn’t matter to the people in the towers.  They just wanted to live.  They just needed someone to be brave enough to pull them from the flames.

Perhaps we ought to swim upstream with all our might, whatever is thought of us, to stand and deliver.  Not with violence or harsh tongue or clenched fist.  But with tenderhearted compassion and open hands and brave hearts.  In whatever small way the Spirit of the Living God shows us.

That way, we won’t be dead fish.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann