Category Archives: Memories

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God’s Thunder

The thunder is rolling outside. One thunderstorm rolled through about an hour or so ago. Now another one approaches.

I absolutely love the sound of thunder. It reminds me of my childhood, watching thunderstorms roll through El Paso, and Casper, and Glorieta. Watching the lightning out the windows and counting the seconds until the crack of thunder. There’s such power in that sound — so you know there’s power in the lightning.

Many nights our first month or so in Delhi we would sit on our veranda, all 5 of us girls, and watch the storms roll across the city.  We were on the 4th floor, with a only a park in front of our building, so we had a good view of our surroundings. As we watched, inevitably someone would pick up the guitar and start playing a worship song. Before long we would all be singing praises to the Mighty God, He who made the thunder and rain. My prayers during those times were that God’s Spirit would sweep across the city like a storm, bright and loud and bringing cleansing rain.

I have a few friends who are deathly afraid of lightning and thunder. I’ve never understood that. To me the sound of thunder is comforting, soothing. Yes, great power is on display — and if you aren’t careful, you could end up on the wrong end of that power. But to fear it? To be frightened at every crack and rumble? I can’t imagine it.

Thunder is a beautiful sound to my ears. Like a great symphony, an amazing guitar lick or — or the drums coming in on Phil Collins’ "In The Air Tonight." I realized tonight how much I missed it when I stepped outside for a moment just in time to hear it rumble. It’s the rhythm that underscores and accentuates the rain. Without it the rain is, well, just wet. But add thunder and you have music. God’s music. Music in which He displays a hint of His power, celebrates life and brings life.

As a child my parents told me that thunder was God bowling. Perhaps that’s where my association with God and thunder began. Somewhere early in my life, however, God whispered to me that it wasn’t His bowling making the noise, it was His celebration of life.

Tonight as I read through the upper Psalms, I was struck by Psalm 99, particularly the first 4-5 verses.

The LORD reigns,
let the nations tremble;
he sits enthroned between the cherubim,
let the earth shake.
Great is the LORD in Zion;
he is exalted over all the nations.
Let them praise your great and awesome name-
he is holy.

The King is mighty, he loves justice-
you have established equity;
in Jacob you have done
what is just and right.
Exalt the LORD our God
and worship at his footstool;
he is holy.

As I read, I heard God whisper, "Think of it. That’s the One who stands in front of you and fights for you. That’s Me — your Lover."

I had always read these verses and believed my proper response should be fear. As I grew closer to the Lord, I couldn’t fit that belief into my shifting paradigm. I’m not afraid of God. I don’t fear Him at all. Yes, I know He’s all-powerful. But I also know how much and how deeply He loves me. He won’t hurt me. Not that I ever want to do anything that would make Him want to. I love Him very much and very deeply. Its the kind of love that so invades my very being that I just don’t want to hurt Him. I won’t allow myself to if I can at all help it. I don’t want to do that to Him.

But even with all that, reading passages of God’s might and how everyone and everything trembles and shakes before Him really left me with a dilemma that I couldn’t resolve: How am I supposed to respond to these verses?

God, in His whispering voice, answered my question, one I wasn’t even asking as I read.

My response can be the same as my response to thunder. I can rest in the comforting knowledge that all that power and might going on around me isn’t going to "get" me — instead, it is going before me. God stands in front of me, my Defender, my Champion; the One who fights for me.

I am such the quintessential girly-girl!! That hit me in the most needed places in my heart. I want to be championed. I want to be defended. I want to be fought for. And to think that all that power and all that might is on display to ward of my enemies, to defend me against attack, to fight for my honor and reputation, to stand between me and those who wish to take me captive… wow!

It’s a subtle shift in context, from looking at God as the Almighty to be feared —  which the Church these days often misnames "revered" or "respected" — to looking at God as the Almighty defender and protector and champion of me, of you, of all those who follow Him. But it makes a huge difference in how I view Him and how I now can see myself responding to passages like Psalm 99:1-4 with gratefulness, love and loyalty to my God.

And as we live in God, our love grows more perfect. So we will not be afraid on the day of judgment, but we can face him with confidence because we are like Christ here in this world.

Such love has no fear because perfect love expels all fear. If we are afraid, it is for fear of judgment, and this shows that his love has not been perfected in us. We love each other as a result of his loving us first. – 1 John 4:17-19

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Fresh Rain

Can you smell it?

It’s the fragrant aroma of fresh rain falling. I began as I drove home from Mosaic tonight. I got a whiff of it and immediately opened my sunroof to the "tilt" position so I could take in the whole bouquet of it.

It’s a fragrance that immediately takes me back to my childhood. For some reason, even though I lived in many places as a child where it rained often — like Tacoma, Washington — the smell of fresh rain always seems to take me back first to Glorieta, New Mexico. I have wonderful memories of many summers spent at there, hiking in the mountains where the conference center is nestled, learning to make many fun things in day-camp, playing in the campground, and watching the daily thunderstorm make it’s way through the mountains on its way to Santa Fe.

But more than just the memories comes the feelings, of newness, of freshness…. hope. Every time I smell the rain I feel…. cleaner. Even if I’m dirty as I can get.

It was so refreshing to smell the rain tonight. I’m so tired. I’ve been exhausted all weekend. Not sure what’s going on… I just feel like I did when I had Mono back in the 8th grade. I slept most of today, and I still feel like I could sleep for another 12 hours. So to inhale that wonderful aroma of fresh rain and fill my lungs with it was like… like getting a cold drink of water on a hot summer day. Invigorating and filled with hope.

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Creativity

The other night I experienced creativity in a whole new way.

I’d watched my mom cook all through my growing up. It looked like chaos to me — a dash of this, two of that… one more for good measure, a sprinkle of something else. On it went, till she thought it tasted just right.

I thought she was either a madwoman or a genius. No cookbook, or recipe cards or aids of any kind, and rarely any measuring tools. But it always tasted perfect. Even when she didn’t like it, I thought it was heavenly (except spinach. I don’t think there’s any way to cook spinach and make it edible, nonetheless palatable).

The other night, for the first time in my life, I cooked like my mom did. I experimented and just kept tasting until it was close to mom’s. I figured I had nothing to lose. Adria was still at work, so if all went well, I could surprise her with dinner. If it all went south… Well heck, I could just throw it away, make a PB&J and pretend the whole thing didn’t happen.

I had a blast! Anyone entering my kitchen would have declared it a national disaster area and insisted the whole place be cordoned off till the experts arrived to assess the damage and begin clean up. Pots and spices were everywhere, small spills of liquid and a smear of olive oil riddled the counter, what a mess. If I’d been in a movie I’d have been covered head to toe with flour, my hair all a mess, BUT a beautiful banquet spread across the dining table.

But I’m not in a movie (even though I do have a soundtrack and a theme song — more on that later…). So I had to settle for broiled chicken, corn and muffins. Not much, but it tasted great. Almost like mom’s. And I did it all in my own unique brand of creativity.

I wonder if this is what God did, In The Beginning.

…God saw all that he had made, and it was very good. And there was evening, and there was morning… — Genesis 1

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Happy New Year

Well, it’s official. I’ve now entered the year I turn 40.

Yikes.

That thought didn’t occur to me until a few days ago. And I started getting nervous. Nervous of all things! Me. The kid who’s always wanted to be older than she was. Always looked forward to her next birthday, couldn’t wait to turn 30, and usually starts saying she’s the next older age about six months before her birthday.

For the first time in my life (besides 2003, which doesn’t really count ’cause that was my first birthday after mom and dad died) I so do not want to reach my birthday.

Whew…. I’d planned a much happier, more positive post for this particular moment. But… well… here we are.

On a happier note, I talked with Nina shortly after midnight here and things are going very well at her home. We laughed over a shared memory both of us thought of a minute or so before we each entered the midnight hour…

When we were kids we used to go as a family out on our porch at midnight on New Years– regardless of where we were living and the temperature outside — and bang pots and pans as loud as we could and yell "Happy New Year!" at the top of our lungs. Usually everyone else in the neighborhood were in their own respective yards doing something similar

We always had so much fun on New Years eve. Eating popcorn, left over Christmas candy (my mom made the most awesomely fantastic Christmas candy ever!!), and left over turkey and fixin’s from Christmas dinner, laughing, playing games, and often watching family slides — family slides were like a huge treat for us. I can’t think of anything kids have today that could compare to that sort of treat. Pity. They have so much they can do right at their fingertips that nothing is special anymore, nothing is a treat. Pan-banging was the climax of the evening. Usually once that was done mom and dad were ready for bed. As Nina and I got older we’d usually stay up much later, but I probably would conk out not long after the banging in the new year. I say probably because I can’t honestly remember.

I do remember one particular New Years where our new neighbors were not so keen on our chosen way of "ringing" in the new year….. We were living in Casper, Wyoming. It was our second New Year there. We lived in a new housing complex and the house behind us had just recently been built. As we were banging away on our pots and yelling out to all the world to have a Happy New Year on our back porch, our neighbor in the house behind us yelled out his window that nobody cared and for us to shut up. Dad and mom were really upset. I was embarrassed at being yelled at, and a little confused. Why weren’t these people ringing in the new year like the rest of the world?

The last couple of years I’ve had a strong desire to grab a pan and big spoon and bang the crap out of ’em on New Years’. I think that’s in part to keep mom and dad alive in some small way. But I’ve always been to scared to do it, for fear of upsetting the neighbors and getting yelled at again.

Isn’t that weird. Nearly 40 years old and I’m still intimidated by my neighbors. Maybe that’s something I should change in 2005….

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Merry Christmas Eve!

It’s Christmas eve! Okay, so it’s only early morning Christmas Eve, but since tomorrow… er, today… promises to be quite busy I may not get a chance to blog again until after Christmas.

We’re going to have our big turkey dinner tonight because Christmas day will be a full day of activity. Nina and Toby will be running down to Columbia to pick up Frances (their daughter) Christmas morning so she can be home for the day, Kevin, Jennifer, Jake and Kaitlyn, the family living with Nina and Toby, will also be here Christmas day, as will Stephen. So we’ll have a full, full house — and lots of activity going on.

Thank God I have a room downstairs in the basement where I can go when the crowd gets to be too much for me! I’m sooooo not a big crowd person. I have distinct memories of family holiday gatherings where I would disappear to what my mom called my "cave," aka my room, where I would go to "hide out" and recoup my energy for a while before facing the crowd again. It doesn’t matter that its my family. It still drains all the energy out of me. I’m definitely an introvert.

At any rate, I think the next few days will be fun — in spite of the crowd. And I’m looking forward to making new memories.

Merry Christmas ya’ll!

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Hey Lon! An Answer and A Bit of History

Wow, how’d you find out I’d quoted you…? I forgot to let you know (what I usually do when I quote someone I don’t know.)

You commented that it looks like I’ve joined the "Mosaic Movement" and wanted to know more.

Well… no, I didn’t join Mosaic. It kinda popped up around me.

See, back in 1994, I joined the Church on Brady — who’s official name was, and still is as far as I know, First Southern Baptist Church, East Los Angeles. It was originally founded in the 1940s out of a little store-front on Whittier Boulevard in East LA. It eventually moved to property on Brady Street in East LA, where it still was in the 1960s. The racial turmoil of the times caused people to drop the "Southern Baptist" part from the name of the church, preferring instead to say, "I go to that little church on Brady Street." The nickname stuck and eventually all the signs were change to The Church on Brady.

I started coming at the urging of a friend, Darla, around the end of 1993. I joined the sound team in January ’94 and joined the church a few months later. I’ve been a member there ever since. At that time Bro. Tom Wolf was the pastor. In April ’94, however, Erwin McManus was named Senior Pastor and Bro. Tom took the position of Teaching Pastor.

In 1997 we made our first foray into services at a new location — East LA College (ELAC). We planned to start meeting there full-time come January 1998 because we were outgrowing the Brady site. This presented a small problem. The Church on Brady would no longer be the church "on Brady Street." Now what? I remember some talk about what we would call ourselves… and for some reason I want to say we had kind of a naming contest going, or something… but I can’t remember. At any rate, Erwin eventually came to the name, Mosaic; the elders voted and it was decided. Mosaic we would now be.

In 1998 we moved both our morning and evening services off the Brady Street property. The only thing that still met there were our Wednesday evening classes and monthly Lord Supper services. ELAC was one of the meeting places. The second was a downtown nightclub, at that time still call the Shangri-La, once owned by Prince. We had actually looked into buying it, but when we couldn’t agree on a price it was sold to someone else. That new owner was willing to rent us the space for our "Urban" services on Sunday evening.

Unfortunately, there’s a growing misconception that Mosaic began with that "Urban" service at the SoHo (as the club was then called). This isn’t true on many levels. As I’ve pointed out, Mosaic was begun as First Southern Baptist over sixty years ago now. Also, we’d been having those Sunday night services at the Brady site for over a year before moving to the nightclub. However, up until we moved to the Mayan night club a few months ago, the SoHo had been the longest venue we’d been at since we ventured off Brady Street. I think many people hear Erwin refer to that fact and assume that Mosaic started in ’98 with that service. Just NOT true. šŸ™‚

Eventually our morning "Metro" services were moved back to the Brady site for a year or so, mid-99 thru 2001. Somewhere around April or May 2001 (I was in India at the time) Metro moved over to San Gabriel High school, and met there until March of 2004, when it moved over to the night club as well.

In 2003 we finally sold the Brady site property, and in 2004 we purchased some land in… La Puente area, I think… I’m not really sure where it is. I think it will eventually become the office facilities. And hopefully, with any grace from God, it will also become a housing facility for our overseas workers when they are in the States (a quad-type home featuring 4 2-3 bedroom apartments with laundry facilities and small kitchenettes all of which share a main large common living room-type common area has been suggested by some friends of mine…).

That’s kind of the history of Mosaic/Church on Brady/First Southern Baptist Church as it pertains to me. My involvement with it, however, and my convictions run much deeper and are more complex.

Let me see if I can detail all that out in another post… or two…

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‘Tis The Season

Sorry for my silence over the weekend. I haven’t felt much like writing.

There are many thoughts swimming in my head, many conversations God and I have engaged in over the last few days. I just don’t know how to condense them down into posts… and I’m still grappling with many of the issues anyway.

One such issue is growing bigger as the days near December 25th. Last year was the hardest Christmas I ever had; the first without mom and dad.

I thought it would be easier this year. But I’m already struggling and Christmas is still 20 days away. I finally decorated up the apartment. It just felt to "sterile" not to have Christmas lights, garlands and a small Christmas tree. But it hasn’t gotten me into the "Christmas Spirit". I went for a drive yesterday and just enjoyed the beauty of decorated homes and the crisp cold of a Nashville winter night. Even during my drive my sadness deepened.

This season — Thanksgiving thru New Years’ — used to be my favorite time of year, with just the perfect blend of cold weather, warm feelings, holiday magic and incredible scents. I hope someday it will be my favorite again. Right now, it’s the time of year I feel mom and dad’s deaths most profoundly. They gained the greatest gift — finally they are Home for Christmas. But their, and heaven’s, gain is my loss.

I long to spend just one more Christmas with them. To hear mom’s laughter ring throughout the house. To smell her pies baking, taste her candies — she made the best Peanut Brittle, Fudge, Ginger Snaps and "Scotchies’ the world has ever known! — and listen to her play Christmas Carols on the piano… To hear dad read the Christmas story one more time, see him in that silly Santa hat handing out the presents… just to get one more hug and kiss from them, or lay in bed and hear them through the wall talking and laughing with each other at the end of the day…

Emotions sweep over me and threaten to overwhelm me. I cling to God’s promises to always be with me, that the water will not sweep me away nor will the flames I walk through set me ablaze.

This is a time of year portrayed in movies, commercials and church pageants as being "the most wonderful and happiest time of the year," as the song goes. But I wonder: how happy is it for most people, really.

How many others are there like me, who are just putting one foot in front of the other and praying to any god they know that they will make it through the season without a total emotional breakdown? How many turn down our invitations to our Christmas pageants because they just can’t bear to see another "It’s A Wonderful Life" like presentation about how all’s well and at peace with the world because Jesus was born? How many are haunted by memories of Christmas’s past, of Christmas wishes never realized, of holidays marked more by fear, abuse, angry words, or loss than by happiness, joy and good gifts?

Where is the Christmas place for them? Where is the place where Christmas isn’t all smiles and candy canes? Where can we experience a Christmas full of depth and meaning for a lost and broken world?

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Isn’t It Strange

Taking a quick break from addressing envelopes for Christmas Cards… went downstairs to get something to drink from the break room and spent a little time staring out the big picture window, watching traffic pass by and the American flag waving in the wind.

As I watched our flag, I flashed back to the moment I first saw it again after my first trip overseas. I’d just spent 4 glorious days in Japan and 9 painfully culture-shock-filled days in China. I was so desperate to be back on familiar soil! Arriving back at LAX, the first American flag I saw was painted on the side of an aircraft hanger. You never saw someone with so much joy in their heart! I was so glad to see it, MY flag, staring back at me so huge and proud.

Wow, I thought. It’s so good to see that emblem again and know I am safe at last.

That was eight years ago. And for the better part of two years, whenever I saw that flag waving in the wind I felt proud, and never wanted to live somewhere it wasn’t flying.

Now, after two major stints overseas, and a whole lotta life packed into each year, each time I see the American flag waving proudly in the wind, I get a bit of a shock. As if I took a gulp of coke when I was expecting iced tea. I keep expecting to see a Greek flag, or Indian or Ethiopian or Chinese, or some other nation’s flag waving outside. And there’s a small sense of disappointment that pricks my heart when that expectation goes unrealized yet again.

Where once I felt I’d never live anywhere else, now each time I see my flag waving I wonder, what am I doing here?

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Workin’ Girl

Well, actually, Pooped-Out-Quittin’-Time-Girl. I accomplished absolutely nothing on my own To-Do list. But I somehow managed to get all of Kerry’s To-Do list for me done. Whew. At least I can leave the office for the Holiday weekend knowing I’ve done all I could in the time I had. That’s a good feeling.

I was talking with Kat last night about work and realized that working for Kerry is a lot like working for Ken W. at PHE (Paramount Home Entertainment). Ken was probably the best boss I ever had (aside from my dad, who was my first boss). He was very laid back, quiet kind of guy — a Mormon, so he never cussed. Heck, Ken never got angry. He’d get frustrated at times, but even that was low-key. He never had the screaming cussing fits most senior executives in the entertainment industry have. Laid back, low-key, wicked, wicked sense of humor — we used to have cola wars over the AmTel machine (he was a Pepsi man; Me, I’m a Coke girl!) What a blessing he was as a boss!

On top of that, he answered his own phones. WooHoo!! You wanna win me over as a fan, and have me as an employee forever? Answer your own phones. I hate answering phones. It’s more the disruption of what I’m doing that gets me frustrated than it is the interaction. I don’t mind talking to people, I just hate having to stop what I’m doing and change my focus to what they — that disembodied voice on the other end — wants me to focus on. It can be especially annoying when I’m working on a project that requires concentration.

Anyway, Kerry is very similar to Ken in most ways. The exception is that Kerry is not as laid back as Ken. Nothing seemed to rattle Ken, or shake his confidence that the world wasn’t going to fall apart if Eric’s (the President of the PHE) every demand wasn’t met. And that was a tall order considering Eric was your typical Type-A, neurotic, overly needy industry senior executive. Yikes this guy was uptight.

Kerry has some of Eric’s uptight-ness. Not a lot of it –and he’s in no way close to Eric! But it’s there nonetheless. That sense you get when the exec is just too burned out to think straight anymore. And no wonder. The guy’s been through hell this last year, for a variety of reasons. He really needs a long vacation away from any sort of communications devices. I doubt he’ll get it. Or take it if he did. But he needs it.

Other than his tightly wound springs, Kerry could be Ken’s twin… Smart, hard working, respectful, kind, generous… I think he’s got Ken’s sense of humor too, but it’s taking a little time for him to feel comfortable enough with me to let it out. Or maybe I’m just a little too on the weird side for him. Which is entirely possible. My sensahumah ain’t for everybody. I discovered that truth the hard way…

The other thing they both share is the respect and esteem they give me. Ken would often ask my opinion on things, and he actually listened to me and took my opinions and thoughts seriously. Do you know how rare that is?? Let me tell you, it doesn’t come along but once, maybe twice in a career for an executive assistant. And Kerry treats me in the same manner. He actually seems to value my opinion, wants and seeks out my thoughts and ideas. Very rare. And very cool.

I know I have good stuff, quality stuff to offer the world. Not to everyone, I realize. At least not at first. I couldn’t tell Larry how to improve his sand sculptures in a million years. But let me get down in the sand and work with him on a dozen or so and I can pretty much guarantee that I’d have suggestions and thoughts and ideas. Would he listen to me, even though he’s been doing it for 24 years and I’d been there only a few months? I think he would. Because he’s my friend.

But it’s a different story when you’re digging in the sand with your boss. They tend to be, well… bossy. šŸ™‚ They have their ideas, their ways, their wants and desires, and I’ve learned that to have a “happy” workplace I must make the boss happy, regardless of how I feel about the matter.

And that’s really as it should be. It’s his name on the line, after all, not mine. At the end of the day, I go home and that’s that. At the end of Kerry’s day he’s still carrying around the multiple crosses he’s been given by the president. It’s the price he pays for the VP title. And he gets the wages as compensation. Personally speaking, I think I’d rather have my life as compensation and just take the miniscule wages of an assistant, and the crap of an executive on stress overload, as my price. From my perspective, my seat on the bus is the better one. But that’s just me… I like life better than work. And I don’t see my work as my life. And I’m drifting way off topic.

Kerry and Ken are those rare breeds of bosses that actually let their assistants help shape the ideas, designs, projects and final products. I often lamented that I let Ken slip through my fingers… he wanted to hire me, came just shy of begging me to stay. But I was already committed to going overseas as a missionary. Being Mormon, he had a deep respect for that calling on my life, so he let it alone. Once overseas, I desperately missed all that Ken was and begged God for another chance at working with him one day. When I came back last year, I met his assistant and quit asking God for that. Ken has THE MOST incredible assistant. She is perfect for him in every way. And I would never deny him the blessing of her, just to satisfy my own selfish desires. So instead I started praying for another boss like Ken….

Now I have Kerry.

But there’s a twist to this particular story that I don’t think I’ll get into here, because this post is too long as it is. I’ll sum my dilemma up by repeating what I told Kat last night: “I have a real problem with organizations that mix Christianity and politics. It’s not that I don’t think Christians should be politically active. It’s that I don’t agree with Christians using the external forces of politics to shape culture when what Jesus calls us to be is Soul Revolutionaries: shaping culture from the inside out. Change the laws and you just have strict laws which the people resent (and if you don’t think the people resent the morals-based voting take a look here or here as a couple of examples). However, change people’s hearts and what they value and you’ll actually shape culture. From the inside out. The way Jesus did.”

I’ll address this issue more in a future post….

For now, however, let me just meditate on a small revelation that came as I typed the last couple of paragraphs…. I asked God for another Ken… and got Kerry. God’s kept the doors to all other jobs resolutely closed at the moment. Frustratingly closed. CMT didn’t ever call back. I’ve applied at EMI three times now. Thomas Nelson could plaster their walls with my resume. I’ve applied for so many jobs. Even temp agencies aren’t calling back. Do I have “Loser” stamped in invisible ink on my resume or something????

Or… is God doing something here, something He’s choosing to keep a little hidden from me at the moment?

Sure wish I knew.

In the meantime, I’m still a Workin’ Girl. Grateful to God for the income — it doesn’t cover all my bills, but it sure helps keep me outa the po’house. And grateful for the boss. It’s nice to be respected for the intelligence and creativity I bring to the table.

But, really. Who are we kidding… Who can resist my delightful charms!

…why are you laughing?