Yellow Roses

One year ago today as the warm sunshine poured through the large windows of room 335, I laid next to my Daddy in his hospital bed kissing his cheeks, his hands, his forehead… a million times over, embracing a precious memory with each kiss, saying good bye, I’m sorry, and thank you with each remembered story. Though my mind has been swept over with these memories as of late, I do not write this morning from a place of sorrow so much as I write from a place of gratitude. Just a few thoughts and memories...

I kissed and nuzzled his cheeks a million times that day, feeling as though I couldn’t stop, not wanting that kiss to be the last one I ever gave him. His cheeks were rough despite hospice’s attempt to shave him. I found it endearing however, as my mind wandered to the days when I would sit on the bathroom counter and watch him shave when he’d come in the house from a long day of milking or working in his yard. I always loved watching this ritual. Still, to this day I can see him shaving two or three strokes then rinsing the blade in a sink of warm, sudsy water. I can still hear the tap, tap of the blade against the side of the sink and smell the distinct fragrance of his shaving cream. He sure got mad when I’d steal it to shave my legs as a teenager. I can still hear his voice as he’d yell from the bottom of the stairs, “Karyn Lee…bring it down here”. He didn’t even have to clarify what “it” was. We both knew.

His shaving cream wasn’t the only thing I would “steal” from him. To this day, nearly 20 years living outside my parent’s home, I have a reputation for stealing Dad’s flannel shirts. It didn’t matter if they were the “good flannel shirts” or ones he wore for milking or yard work. I just adored them and everyone knew it. Often, I would hear my name being called from the bottom of the stairs but it had a different ring to it. He wasn’t mad, like he was with the shaving cream. It was more like “I’m flattered, but honey, you gotta stop doing this”. Once he called me, a year or so after I had moved out and gotten married to ask if I had stolen his new flannel shirt! I didn’t…honestly… but still to this day, I cannot live down the fact that I would take his shirts and make them my own. In fact, my youngest niece calls me, “Aunt Flannel”, which makes me laugh because I only wear flannel shirts when I garden. I guess I still want to be just like my dad. I don’t have any of his shirts now and that crushes me. There was just something about his shirts that no one else, not even my dear husband's shirts have. I guess I felt safe wrapped up in his over sized shirts, close to him somehow. Sure wish I had stolen just one more.

I held one of his hands almost the whole day, kissed every finger, traced the lines, and winced at his countless scars. I love those big, rough, and calloused hands. I always have. They spoke volumes about the kind of man he was, as his hands were strong, able, learning, giving, sacrificial, loving hands. I still recall what it felt like to hold his hands, to have him give that little extra squeeze right before he’d let go. His hands engulfed my hand and I loved it. I always felt like his little girl when I held his hand…even when I was all grown up and had children of my own. I miss holding his hands, praying with him, and working alongside him. He taught me everything with those hands.

One of his absolute loves was working in his yard. He had an amazing gift that dazzled people who would pass by. Though, like a true gardener, we never call it “work”, for it is something that feeds the soul in a way that nothing else does. I had the privilege to have my hands in his yard this week, to pull his weeds, to prune his Rhodies, edge his flowerbeds... The most difficult thing for me to touch were his roses…yellow, vibrant roses…these were his pride and joy. I saved them for last. And wept as I breathed deeply the sweetest scent…a scent I didn’t realize I associate with my dad no matter where I smell it. On my knees already, I buried my nose into the spent pedals I’d just pruned and allowed the Lord to wash over me, to touch me with his tender grace once again. His mercy touched my brokenness and I knew I was safe and loved completely even without the touch of my dad’s hand or being wrapped in an oversized flannel. My Heavenly Father swooped down and held this broken heart of mine and reminded me of words I had read just that morning, “However serious we believe Good Friday is, we are confident that Easter Sunday lies ahead of us.” Meaning, that no matter what disappointments, frustrations, hurts, injustices, or loss come our way because of our faith, our hope in Christ, we believe Easter Sunday—the day of Jesus’ resurrection—and the fulfilling of His promise-- is right around the corner. Christ did not promise an easy, painless life. He did promise however, that Heaven would conquer them in the end (Easter Sunday). Death will be overturned and the fragrance of yellow roses will fill the air, I am just sure of that!


My Dad’s heart desire was to meet Jesus…he spoke often of this desire and believed as my favorite author, Brennan Manning, does that “Death is not the ultimate, but rather the final breakthrough into the waiting, outstretched arms of the Father.” He could not wait to see Jesus face to face. I often picture my dad on his knees before the emerald throne singing, “Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty” with tears of great joy streaming down his cheeks and with a heart that swells with such love, such gratitude. I miss him terribly but know Easter Sunday will come for me too and I will one day run through heaven’s gates. I will embrace my Lord, my God first, but then I am hugging my Daddy! Until that day, I am hugging him in my heart.

Love Isn't Love Until You Give it Away

“Our love for human beings, Jesus told us, will be the sacrament, the visible sign that He’s among us. This is how the world will recognize Him. And the world doesn’t see Him, because they don’t see our love”. I read these words of Brennan Manning earlier this week and as I have reflected over what it means to love, to show love, to live rooted in love… I have come to believe that love manifests itself through compassion. I honestly cannot picture love without picturing one who is compassionate…one who is empathetic not just in word but in deed. Love is an action word. However, it’s not just being nice, it’s not just doing what is expected or required. Love is not about being convicted to do the right thing. Love is moral certainly, but moreover, there is an element of mercy, an overwhelming sense of peace that transcends all understanding as we walk beside the hurting, the hated, the feeble and the frail.


Love swells from a heart that has experienced the tenderness of Jesus in our lives, one who can picture a battered, unidentifiable body hanging from a cross in our place, one who can identify with the prodigal son who humbly, shamefully returns to his father and is not only engulfed in the arms of his father, but forgiven. It also radiates from one who claims to have no testimony because the Lord has spared them of abuse in its multiple forms, and by God’s grace, their faith hasn’t waned as they witness such heartache and turmoil that seems to abound from every crevice. To inhale the sweet fragrance of such tender love, to experience such forgiveness, such grace…my heart swells with love and exhales a love that is not my own but a love that supersedes my own thoughts and judgments. A kind of love that sees others through the eyes and heart of Jesus…a love that oozes such mercy, such compassion that one cannot help but to be love in action. My words seem feeble and yet my heart beats harder, beats with conviction, with purpose, while my fingers fail to find the words adequate to express such…such love, a love I have not only experienced… changing me from the inside out, but is the very breath that gives me life.


I want my life to be a reflection of Christ’s love, His hope, and His tender grace to others. I have often prayed that I would see others the way He sees them…this has brought me to my knees countless times. It has caused my heart to beat wildly out of empathy for others. It has spurred me to love beyond the spoken, well-intended words. And not just for the likable, the hurting, or the disabled, but for the ruthless, self-centered, users, and manipulators. I am still a work in progress as honestly some people are easier to love than others. Yet Christ commands us to love our enemy (Matthew 5:44)… Can I really love my enemy? Can I have compassion for my enemy? Can I root for my enemy? I don’t believe it is possible if my heart is not beating in sync with Christ’s. The greatest commandment is to love the Lord our God with all our heart, with all our soul, and with all our mind. The second greatest commandment is to love our neighbors as ourselves (Matthew 22:37-39). How are we doing? Are we loving them with all we have within us? Are we, as Christians, loving differently than others? How is our version of love different? Can others see it? Love needs to move beyond the same old rhetoric that the world has heard over and over again, that the world has lost hope in because our words do not match our actions. Our actions rooted in love need to offer hope to others.


“We are surrounded by people who are hungry and thirsty and naked in their souls, and they come to us hungry for understanding, thirsty for affirmation, naked with loneliness, and wanting to be covered with the mantle of our genuine tenderness” (Brennan Manning) and so often we do not see beyond the surface…their needs, their hurts…because our focus is narrow or maybe we have come to believe it is someone else’s problem or perhaps we ourselves feel inadequate or…that we are too busy. We need to come to the place where we welcome God’s interruptions…to love beyond words, beyond church walls. To love practically, fully, without obligation but out of desire to communicate hope and acceptance. What a gift we have the ability to give.

Whispered I Love Yous

That day, the day my dream of becoming a mother came true, was indescribable as the heavens seemed to open and the sweet sound of angels’ singing filled the room where I held her precious 8 pound, 4 ounce body in my arms for the first time. As I spent the next several hours starring into my daughter’s dark eyes, my heart filled with a kind of love I had never known before. I nuzzled my cheek against hers and whispered a million I love yous and things that I would one day want to do with and for her. My heart was full as I relished in my most precious gift, a gift I adored even before I saw her face, a gift I treasured and longed to protect long before I knew her. This is the kind of love that grows, though I didn’t know that all those years ago. It matures with time and the whispered I love yous become the foundation to what looks anything but love to my daughter who is now nearly sixteen. In addition to the tender nuzzles of love, this love also speaks truth into our lives that is often hard to hear. I don’t like this part of my role as a mom. It is hard and honestly breaks my heart.

Being the mother of a teenage daughter has brought with it more challenges than I ever anticipated. This week has been one of those weeks, where I feel we take one step forward only to turn around and take two steps back. Four days in a row I had to have a heart to heart talk with my daughter, showing her the selfishness and pride that seemed to abound from her once humbled and joyful heart, and ask her to look more closely at the condition of her heart. Each night, her tear streaked face showed me she was sorry. Her words, slow and shaky, told me she was earnest in her repentance. However, on night four of dealing with the same behavior and finding myself sitting face to face with this same tear streaked, remorseful face, I found myself not believing her words. I was at my breaking point and I said, “Don’t say you’re sorry, if you don’t mean it. Don’t say you are sorry unless you plan to change the way you go about this situation. Repentance, Abigail, is turning your back on the way you were going and going the exact opposite direction. Are you ready to do that?” No words, no expression could be found in her eyes. I stood and left the room without another word, fearful that I would say something more that would crush her spirit rather than her attitude.

Sleeping on the situation, I woke this morning realizing I very much resemble my own daughter’s attitude in my own walk with the Lord. At times I am selfish, I am prideful, and my thoughts and motives not always pure. When I realize how far off course I have gotten, I fall to my knees, sob a prayer of repentance, and before too long find myself praying the same prayer of repentance…again and again. Confronted by the mirrored image of my daughter’s heart condition, my mind wandered to the words I read earlier in the week of my favorite author, Brennan Manning, “Every change in the quality of a person’s life must grow out of a change in his or her vision of reality”.

Reality is more than merely looking at our current place, position, or situation and believing this is our lot in life, whether we like it or not. Reality is the foundation of who we are, what we believe, and guides us along life’s journey into the arms of Christ…The Christ whose very nature screams out love and forgiveness. “What we think about God is the most important thing about us”. Is He part of our reality? Our answer defines our view of life. If He is indeed the foundation of our reality, our vision changes, we change. We see the world through eyes of one who has been forgiven and know with all that we are… despite our selfishness, pride, impure thoughts, and motives that God’s love continues to carry us, that “He will never leave us or forsake us” (Hebrews 13:5). Without a doubt, the essence of our faith lies in trusting the unfathomable love of God.

So I say to my daughter, do you know that you are utterly loved? Do you know that you were bought with a price? Do you know that your name is branded on the palm of His hands? That He knew you before you were born? That He knows the number of hairs on your head? That you cannot hide from Him, even in the darkest of nights? You are always on His mind and forever in His heart. He loves you with an everlasting love, an unconditional love. He is always on your side, always rooting for you. When the world is against you, He is for you. Attempting to paint a picture of the reality I hold so, so close to my own heart, I lower my head, allow the tears to fall and whisper, “Beloved, He wants your heart. Are you ready to give it to Him? Not just on Sunday mornings, not just in the mix of your Christian friends…but to really relinquish it all to Him?” “Yes”, is her quivered reply. And though I know there will be many, many times in her life as well as in mine that we will have to repent, I know that Abba’s (Daddy, Father God) nature is tender and He will always forgive us.

Starring out my big picture window, repenting once again of my own wrong doings and basking in the sweet tenderness that Christ is for me, I notice a soft breeze whispering through the trees as they gently sway and I swear I hear, “I love you, Beloved”. The whispered I love yous come in a variety of ways, some are so tender, like that of nuzzling a newborn babe and others come through trials, but the point is that they come. What you believe about Christ will impact your view of reality and whether you will embrace the whispered I love yous in its various forms.

“The more a man realizes that he has received a gift that he can never repay…the tenor of his life becomes one of humble, joyful thanksgiving. He simply rejoices in the gifts” and his life sings out, “Give thanks to the Lord for He is good, His kindness endures forever”. (Psalm 107:1)

To my Beloved Abigail…I was given an extravagant blessing when the Lord allowed me to be your mom…a gift I treasure every single day. I love you. I adore you…I excessive love you!

Weakness: Not Such a Bad Word.

As I was driving home the other day I turned on the radio to hear a song that repeated, “You're enough, you're enough, you're enough for me, Lord”. When the song ended, I switched off the radio and spoke into the open air, “Lord, are you really enough for me?” I know the answer in my heart but honestly my actions don’t reflect that knowledge. I wrestle with allowing Him to be enough for me. I keep Him at arm’s length sometimes out of fear, out of selfishness… out of my own self sufficiency. And if I am being honest, I have changed the question to be, “Lord am I enough for you?” Into the same open air, I weep deeply for I know that I have missed the mark. I know I have made my life more about what I can do and give to Him than what He has given and continues to give and do for me. Far too often I live from the place of self-sufficiency, more than I live from the place of gratitude.

I see my weaknesses and convince myself that I am not enough for the Lord. I know it does not work like that-- that Christ loves me unconditionally, without merit, and in my weaknesses --perhaps because of my weaknesses and my utmost need for Him. Still, I struggle with feeling I have to earn it or prove myself worthy on some level of His love. That is the world speaking however, not Christ. I find myself constantly assigning human ways, human thoughts, and having human expectations to the Lord. He tells us that “His ways are not our ways and His thoughts are not our thoughts” (Isaiah 55:8). This wrestling, this inner heart ache, and desire to be defined as a gal that loves the Lord with her whole mind, body, and soul, I have spent time this week reflecting what it looks like to live a life rooted in faith and grace in a world that pressures anything but.

I don’t want to resemble the Pharisees who were virtuous, moral, and lived a life to the letter of the law but were inauthentic. Christ does not want my perfection, my good deeds. He wants my heart. In my weaknesses I am more open to Him and His grace. I want to risk showing my weakness, share my feelings, hurts, and joys with others like that of a child…unabashed, unashamed, and with a joyous heart that knows no bounds. “It was for liberty that Christ freed us”. (Galatians 5:1) I pray with all my heart that I will relish in that liberty and not live from a life of policies and rules, and other’s expectations but from the very heart of God, complete in my weakness so that His glory would be evident in my words and actions.

Weakness is a negative word but it doesn’t have to be. Weakness can be a gift when we recognize all that it brings to our lives and allows us to bring to our relationships. It is the area we are perhaps more ourselves than any place else. It is a place where pride is at bay and our humbleness and need are brought to the forefront of our lives. It causes us to “relate to the people we serve,” it allows us to feel with them the “human condition, the human struggle and darkness and anguish that call out for salvation”. Further, weakness relates us profoundly to God because it provides the arena in which His power can move and reveal itself. When I consider my actions, I realize that I often am communicating to God that I don’t need Him. How this grieves my heart to write these words…to bring light to my inner struggle.

Perhaps you have heard the term “dying to self”. It sounds sacrificial, doesn’t it? It sounds intimidating. It sounds unpleasant, honestly. What it means essentially is that Christ explicitly becomes the center of our lives, not us, not our good ideas, not our good efforts…Christ and Christ alone. When I ask the question, “Lord am I enough for you?”, I am dangerously close to serving myself, making my relationship with Christ more about me, than I am about Him. I am still learning what this looks like practically in this life but I know without a doubt it begins with being rooted in the faith conviction that I am loved, beyond my comprehension, by God as am, not as I should be.


“I will all the more gladly glory in my weakness, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then I am content with weakness, insults, hardships, persecution and calamities; for when I am weak, then I am strong”. 2 Cor. 12:9-10

Part of the Problem...is Me

Am I “…daring enough to be different, humble enough to make mistakes, wild enough to be burnt in the fire of love, real enough to make others see how unreal they are”? These words, written by Brennan Manning, have lingered in my mind for several days and this morning as my Pastor asked the congregation what Christians are best known for, “hypocrisy” unanimously filled the air. Though this came as no surprise, it caused a deep weeping in my soul. For I am fully aware that I am not daring enough to be all that different...I proclaim to be a Christian. I often say Christ is my everything, my life, my all. My desire is to know Him more intimately than I do, to adopt His very nature as my own, and to be His hands, feet and, heart to those around me. But to sit there this morning, absorbing the world’s definition of Christian…I find myself realizing I am part of the problem. I resemble the world more than Christ. This is a constant struggle for me and I find that I am constantly fighting to find some happy medium. The thing is, I know I cannot live a life that pleases man AND Christ simultaneously. This is where my hypocrisy lies and perhaps does for many Christians.

I heard someone once ask, ‘if Christians really believe they are “saved”, why don’t they look like it’. And though I have not given this question much thought in several years, it comes rushing back to me today and I find myself asking the same question…truly, if we, as Christians, believe we are saved, have been given the gift, the absolute treasure of Salvation, unconditional love from our Heavenly Father, why don’t our actions match? Faith is more about what we do than about what we think but somewhere along the line, we have made our faith something we keep to ourselves. I attended a memorial service this afternoon and as I sat there my mind kept wondering, what will people remember and treasure most about me? What will my legacy be? Will it simple be that I was a nice girl who smiled on Monday mornings and loved her coffee, books, family, and career? Gosh, as nice as that is, I hope that will be just the beginning…I desire to defined…defined by my faith. Think about that. What would the Christian person look like who was defined by their faith? Does your life look like the picture in your mind? Mine sure doesn’t. But I know the Lord who began a good work in me will carry it on to completion (Philippians 1:6). What that tells me is that though my salvation is complete, my sanctification is not. Thank goodness!

As a Christian, I have a personal responsibility for what I do. I believe in Christ not because I have to but because He has revealed Himself to me in countless ways that are unmistakably Him. I hope not out of ignorance, but because I am confident in my Lord and in His sovereignty. I love not because it is commanded, but because nothing else in all the world brings me more joy. I live expectantly, for I long to see the Lord at work around me. I live intentionally, with purpose, and an eagerness to serve the Lord in all that I do, say, and think. I desperately want my actions to match my words. I desire to put away the ways of the world, be that person that others at my own memorial service will say, “That was one gal who LOVED the Lord with all her mind, body, and soul. Lord, I give you my heart, take it, mold it, and use it for your glory. Let your Word burn in my heart. Let there be no division or compromise in my life, but complete devotion to you and you alone.

Thankful

Calf length fur coat, oversized costume jewels and deep black curls that framed an aging beauty. Her disposition graceful and her words soft, but it was her smile that drew me in. It was a crooked smile lined with bright red lipstick that held a sadness that the bystander might miss. Her deep brown eyes revealed a shame, as they look downward and off to the side as she humbly asked for a half a piece of pecan pie. She didn’t want to appear greedy. She didn’t want to impose. She wore her best clothes, maybe her only clothes and tried to blend in. She held on to the bit of dignity she had left and tried to pretend that it didn’t bother her. She sought coffee for those around her and served them with that smile. She engaged in polite conversation, nodding and smiling as she listened to others share their stories. She cared deeply and the occasional sparkle in her eyes told me that she was listening to more than their words, but to their hearts. How a woman with such tenderness, such mercy, such inner beauty, could end up here, at a banquet for the homeless, was more than I could fathom. Handing her a half slice of pecan pie, I wanted to ask but I didn’t dare. I felt it would have been an intrusion of her privacy. Perhaps it would have brought to light what she was desperately trying to conceal.

As I swept the floor as people ate in an adjoining room, I thought about the people I had the opportunity to serve this night. How I expected them to be drug users, dirty and smelly, maybe even rude or aggressive. Sure, I saw some of that, but so much more than that, I was touched by the humanity. I was touched by the need. I was touched by the humbleness. As I swept, I kept thinking how I wanted to give everything I had. I wanted to give my best… I wanted to sweep the best I could, I wanted to scrub the counters the best I could because it was all I had this night…my service. Before I finished my task, I could not help but to stop, wrap an extra piece of pecan pie for the woman with black curls, and hug her tightly. I am sure I startled her for she said nothing but before she left she came into the kitchen and thanked me as she made a gesture to where she was sitting. I smiled and with tears in my eyes said, “Happy Thanksgiving Precious”. I did not want to leave. I got in the car and said to my family, “This is something we have to do”. Though I was referring to serving the homeless, I also meant that we have to serve others as Christ would…with a willing heart that sees others for who they are, not what they have.

We do not know the impact we have on someone’s life. But we do know we are not making a positive impact if we are not doing something. My cup is full and it has nothing to do with what I have or have obtained but because of Who I belong to and the heart in which He enables me to serve. I am thankful for my precious Savior.

People Pleasers Anonymous

Since my Daddy passed away almost two months ago, there hasn’t been a situation that I haven’t filtered through thoughts of, what would Daddy say if he could see this? I wonder if he would be proud of me, I wonder what advice he would give me. There have been moments when I find myself talking aloud to him while working in my gardens. There have been times I hug pictures of him and plant my kissed finger to his framed image on my desk. It is not uncommon to revere our loved ones once they have passed, idolize them even. However, after much reflection these past weeks, I have come to the realization that I do this all the time. I seek man’s approval. I work hard with the expectation that it will be noticed, admired and therefore led to being liked…loved even. Without a doubt, I am a people pleaser. And if I’m being honest, I have to admit that I struggle constantly with believing that God is enough for me…that His approval is all I need…and the fact, that I already have His approval, His love at no expense to me.

It’s been interesting…this reflection period for me. I wrote a few weeks ago about the simple life my Dad led, that he valued things not of earthy value but that of relationships with others. He worked harder than anyone I know or have ever known as a custodian and before that, a dairy farmer. He did not work hard however to earn approval of man. He had it though because he was true to who he was…the beloved son of the Most High. If I were to attempt to compile a list of why I love my Dad, it would not contain a single thing that he did, but rather a list of who he was a man. Think about that for a moment. If you were to make your own list of why you love someone, what would that list look like? I bet it would be a list of their characteristics, not a list of things they do for you or ways in which they have earned your favor. I wonder therefore, why I work so hard to earn approval from man.

Realizing this, I wonder then if it possible for me to live within relationships out of gratitude for the ceaseless, unwarranted gifts that are continuously showered upon my life without feeling as though I need to give back or continue to work to maintain such love and devotion? When I really think about what I am doing when I act in this manner, I am really saying, “I not enough on my own. You won’t love me, respect me, or value me if you knew me only for my character”. I do this with people. I do this with God. In a very real sense I am saying as Henri Nouwen writes in Home Tonight (2009), “Watch me, God, and see how much I am working for you. Don’t you think you should finally love me?” It deeply grieves me that I do this, that I believe I have to deserve love. Viewing this lesson through the loss of my Dad, through the realization that I am still trying to please my Dad through works, when I know with certainty he loved me for me… not because of what I achieved, I can plainly see the madness in which I live and the meaninglessness of it all. I can practically see my Dad; head down, working his jaw as he often did, and with tears in his eyes as he tells me that it hurts his heart to think I have to deserve his love. He would say,” I love you, period!” Christ tells us the same thing and proved His love for us on the cross…before we had a chance to earn it.

Because of this lesson, this gift of many, I desperately desire to live intentionally from the place in which I can say, “Oh Father, thank you for gifting me with life and with unconditional love, a love that comes freely…without work, without obligation…for loving me for me”. Without a doubt, this is the path to greater freedom and intimacy with the Lord. It does come at an expense however, for we cannot seek the approval of man and God simultaneously, for the two do not seek the same things. Set your heart on things above Beloved and relish in the free gift of Love. I choose to claim this Love (First Love: see prior post), independent of what I do, what I have, or what others think of me.

Abba, I pray that you help me to live life as your beloved daughter, that I will live to a higher calling and not seek the approval of man, but to relish in the unconditional gift of your sacrificial love. Dear Lord, I thank you for the example of my Daddy and the lessons you continue to teach me through his life. I am eternally grateful and humbled by your love and devotion to me.

"Am I now trying to win the approval of men, or of God? Or am I trying to please men? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a servant of Christ". Galatians 1:10