Crashing and Burning

Crash and Burn.

Almost.

[God put three incredible women in my path yesterday

 to give me the truth I needed at just the right time.]

(c) Jeanne Miller Photography

As I entered my work's parking lot yesterday morning it was like turning into a wall; emotionally broken in pieces conveniently seconds before I need to walk into the office.  It came on immediately with no warning.  It was like one of those mid-west tornadoes that comes before you can dive into hiding.

No sirens.  No warning. No hiding for me.

I walk into the office and there is Margo-who loves Jesus-greeting me like she does everyday, with a warm smile and bright eyes.

'Margo, somethings wrong.  I am still so sore all over my chest and I feel so overwhelmed.  There's pressure and stress that I feel is working it's way throughout my body and I am now cracked and breaking.'

Margo took me on a walk as I blotted my tears mixed with mascara away from my eyes with a crumbled tissue.  Margo comforted me with words that soothed the aching parts of my heart.  She affirmed me and gave credit to my emotional exhaustion.  As we talked I begin to realize how much my identity is still tied so tightly to what I do.  The last thing I want is to disappoint someone, or not do enough, or fail, or be lazy.

So here I am, three months after open heart surgery and I am looking to my left and to my right saying, "I must be like them."  What 29 year old childless woman is not working full-time?  Why can't I do more?  Why should I have excuses?

I feel like a wimp;  like I'm milking this surgery thing.  The American girl culture keeps singing it's deceptive song, telling me to pull my skirt up, and that the skirt better be cute and wrinkle free; and that I need to earn the money to make my modest dreams come true; and to purchase my own carpet shampooer so I can steam clean whenever I feel like it.

Next I went to the funeral of a very lovely, godly woman, who, at 51, was finally taken from this earth after a  six year battle with cancer.  At her funeral hundreds of wet eyes gathered to celebrate this woman who touched their lives.  I had known her for less than a year, but she had become a prayer warrior for me as I anxiously approached surgery.  One Sunday, after a church service and after my surgery, she grabbed my hand and said, "Don't go too fast too soon.  If you need someone to tell you to stop and say 'no,' just give me a call."

Though Gloria is no longer available for a phone call, it was her voice ringing loud and clear yesterday-'Stop, Lauren, it's ok to say no.  It's ok to rest.'

Gloria is now with Jesus, but he was still using her to minister to my soul.  In God's sovereignty and perfect time he used Gloria's celebration service to remind me of what I needed to hear:  It's time to slow down.

After the funeral I had my final encounter with Kristen, New City Church's pastor's wife (and so much more), who embraced me as I confessed my emotional frailty.  We talked in that church about the hardships of life.  From the lips of this godly woman came words of affirmation and support.  And she commented, "Maybe it's like you're trying to trust God, but your still holding on."  Holding on to that proverbial rope of my life.

I get scared to trust God completely.  Especially with all the obstacles that combat the truth of his love, wisdom, and power.

I fear failing.
I fear disappointing.
I fear being lazy.
I fear not having enough money.
I fear I'm not doing enough.
I fear that I will lose the things I desire to keep.
I fear losing the dreams that I have.

It's time for it all to melt away in the light of the face of Christ.

It's time to start humming that old Baptist hymn:
"Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in his wonderful face.
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
in the light of his glory and grace."

It's time to admit I'm frail.  It's time to admit I can't.

It's time to return to my first love.  It's time to look in the face of Jesus.