Another Brick in the Wall

Because my grandfather was a magician (yes, you read that correctly), my sister and I used to be major fans of David Copperfield when we were growing up.  We still have a number of VHS tapes (remember those?!) with recorded specials on them, and to identify which is which, each has a strip of tape with a written description of each special's most memorable trick.  Among some of my favorites...

1.  "Niagra Falls."  David is strapped inside a buoyant container that is sent adrift toward (what else?) Niagra Falls.  Mysteriously, he emerges from a flying helicopter soaking wet seconds after the container--which we all believed still had him in it--has tumbled mercilessly over the edge.

2.  "The Dozen-Piece Trick."  David cuts one of his dancers into a dozen pieces and puts her back together, all while rocking out to some awesome 80s tunes in his tapered, acid-washed jeans.

3.  "Fires of Passion."  David hangs upside down in a straightjacket in an amphitheatre in Caesar's Palace, dangling over flaming twelve-inch spikes.  Magically, you watch as he unbinds himself and swings to safety minutes before the rope he's attached to falls into the flames.

For some reason, as a kid, my favorite trick and oft requested special to watch was what I had dubbed "The Exploding 'X.'"  In this trick, David is trapped in a safe inside an abadoned building; he must escape and reemerge under a tarp marked with an "X" just yards away, all while the building explodes.

I think what was most fascinating to me was the way the building went down.  No wrecking ball.  No flames.  All they used was one button--one measley little button--and with the touch of it, the building--solid and massive as it was--literally crumbled into dust.

I think of how much effort must have gone into the construction of the building that was frivolously brought to its knees.  I can remember last year, as we watched the builders fashion together our tiny home, how intricate the work could be--packing the foundation into a solid sheet of rock; steadying the wood to create the frame; carefully laying brick after brick to help the structure stand, to keep it strong, to make it work.

It took effort.  It took time.  It took some mighty dedicated builders.

It's the same with the Christian walk, isn't it?  Before a sound and useful structure (i.e. Christian) can exist, it must start with a solid Rock-like foundation (the Lord) and a supporting framework (a basic knowledge and understanding of the Word, what God has done for us, and the concept of salvation).  Bells and whistles like paint color, furniture, and fancy fixtures (fruit of the Spirit, characteristics reflective of Christ) follow as the spiritual walk matures and gains depth.

But the bricks. The first line of defense.  A support and protection of the inner workings of the structure. 

Where do they come from?

I like to think of the bricks as encouragement and support from other believers.  There's nothing quite like community and solid fellowship.  They can help build one another up, and they can help provide strength against stromy attacks of the Enemy.

The more we encourage each other, the more bricks we have laid.  The more bricks we have laid, the stronger we get.

But what happens when our motives, our words, and our choices far from build others up?

Years ago, when I was merely a teenager, I developed an enormous cyst on my right cheek (I have the scar to prove it).  What started as a fairly small bump grew and grew until it took over half my cheek.  It was purple.  Ugly.  And very hard to cover up.

My dermatologist told me it was the biggest one she had ever seen at the time.  Score.

It made me insanely insecure.  We tried treatment after treatment, ointment after ointment, shot after shot, and there it continued to sit, plaguing my face.  One boy even asked if "that mark on my face" was because somebody was beating me up at home (no, but thanks for asking).  Really, I did my absolute best to put it out of my head and not let it get to me.

My sweet friends at the time assured me often that "it wasn't a big deal," "it wasn't as noticeable as you think," and "it doesn't really matter."  I believed them and drew a sense of strength and confidence from their steadfast encouragement.

But I'll never forget the day someone decided to hurl a wrecking ball.

A boy who had shown interest in me at the time was talking to me before Sunday School one morning, and in the midst of our conversation, he looked intensely at my right cheek.  I had completely forgotten about it until I felt his disgusted stare burning a hole through my face.

Snidely, he remarked, "You know, you don't have enough makeup on your face to cover that thing up."

Growing hot with humiliation, I turned my flushed countenance from his view and attempted to blink away the tears that now clouded my vision.  I walked away immediately, feeling ugly and horrible to look at, and I vowed from that moment on to make sure I always had enough makeup on to cover my flaws.

I can't recall a specific person or a specific bit of encouragement during that time; but I can recall the time, place, person, and words that involved an acute crumbling of my self-esteem.

No matter the multitude of positive things people may say, the few negative things tend to leech onto the soul.

You see, it takes a great deal of effort, time, and builders to make a structure strong; but all it takes is one button to detonate it--and all the bricks, the encouragement, and the strength can come crumbling to their knees.

So, ask yourself: what kind of person are you?

Do you seek to bring encouragement to others, to build them up?  Are you a bricklayer?

Or are you a detonator?

Putting all of my feelings out there in the open for a number of people to see (and I'm perfectly aware that I am doing this) has certainly left me vulnerable to some detonation; some comments have really gotten me down.

But thankfully, the Lord has blessed me with a number of bricklayers.  Just when I so very needed it, a sweet co-worker of mine approached me the other day and, completely unsolicited, told me, "I just wanted to let you know that I can tell you're getting better.  I can really tell.  I can't put my finger on it, but you just seem...lighter.  Anyway, I just thought you should know."

She couldn't possibly have known how much my soul needed to hear those words.  I lavished her with a million thanks and told her how much it meant to me to have that encouragement.

Though some of my structure had crumbled, she chose to start laying new bricks.  And for that, sweet lady, I offer you my sincere, heartfelt gratitude.  Bless you.

I'm not asking for you to be my bricklayers by any means; and I'm just as guilty of being a detonator as the next person.  But please, friends, be mindful that even the smallest, most seemingly insignificant words can bring a person to her knees.  The things you say have power.

It's up to you how you will use them.

I know, it takes time and effort and a great deal of dedication, but help the Architect complete His designs.  You don't have to do it all yourself, but do one.  Just one.

Lay a brick.

"Therefore encourage one another and build one another up, just as you are doing."  ~ 1 Thessalonians 5:11

The Suspense Is Killing Me....

I used to love the show Full House.  I've for certain seen every episode at least three times. Every afternoon at 3:00 pm, my rear end was parked on a sofa cushion and ready to listen to the theme song...

"Whatever happened to predictability
The milk man, the paper boy, the evening TV,
You miss your old familiar friends, but
Waiting just around the bend...

Everywhere you look,
Everywhere there's a heart (there's a heart)
A hand to hold onto
Everywhere you look
Everywhere there's a face
Of somebody who needs you

When you're lost out there and you're all alone
A light is waiting to carry you home
Everywhere you look."

Ahhh.  The good ol' days. 

I remember there was an episode where Uncle Jesse was preparing to go to a cocktail party with his fiance Becky, and he was intimidated by all of the "smart people" who were sure to be attending.  To give his intelligence (and ego) a boost, he gathers a multitude of literature and begins to "read."

In order to get through all of them in the short amount of time he has, he vows to read the first and last sentence of each book.

Picking up A Tale of Two Cities, he reads aloud, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..."  Flipping to the last page, he recites, "It is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done."

He chuckles and remarks flatly, "Wow.  Surprise ending."  The laughtrack is cued and they go about solving their problems in the half hour allotted.

It wasn't until I got to my senior English class and actually read the book that I realized how ironic this part of the show was because it is, in fact, a surprise ending (and a tearjerker, I might add).

But of course he didn't get that from reading two sentences in the book.  How could he understand?  He had completely bypassed the story.

My family is awful about trying to guess endings to movies and television shows.  As soon as we hear that there's a "surprise" or a "twist," my mom especially picks through her brain and announces her guesses to the rest of the viewing party before the opening credits have begun to roll...

"She's gonna get together with him."

"He's gonna die."

"He's already dead."

My dad will groan and moan and tell her to quit guessing because it ruins the suspense.  When, inevitably, one of her theories proves true, she sits back in her chair with a satisfied grin and says, "I knew it."

Isn't it that way when we try to guess what the future will hold?

People visit fortune-tellers, read tarot cards, shake a magic 8-ball because the suspense is killing them.  They want to be prepared for what's coming.  They want to know what's coming.

But...what if you could know the future?  What if you could read the last sentence of the book that is your life?  Would you be content?  Would it ruin the surprise?

Or, like Uncle Jesse, would you even understand it?

For almost a year now, I've been stuck in a chapter of my life that I've been praying will end.  Now.  Now.  Now.  Page turn after page turn, and the main character continues to be deeply flawed and stuck at a fork in the road between bitterness and acceptance.

Frankly, I would love nothing more than to flip to the end of the chapter to see what happens.  Where will I go?  What will I do?  Who will I become?

How will all of this resolve?

And wouldn't you know it?  After patiently waiting to find some redeeming quality to the story, well, by golly, here comes a twist...

I've written at length about how difficult it has been to watch the pregnant women in my life as they grow and plan for their upcoming ventures as new moms.  One in particular was extremely hard for me to accept.  It was horrible, awful, could-not-have-been-worse timing, and it left me with an unfortunate bitterness that persisted for most of her pregnancy.  I'm not proud of it.  But there was so much anger, so much resentment, so much yuck that went into it that my heart could barely handle the sting.

Only my mother and my husband truly know the depth of pain that I felt throughout her pregnancy.

It wasn't until a week or two before her due date that we actually opened up to this couple, aired our dirty laundry, and came together with empathy, understanding, and true fellowship.  The meeting that we shared was divine in nature and just what I needed.

And wouldn't you know it...

As the Lord would have it, I got to be there with them the day their baby was born.  I got to watch them become parents, the excitement and anticipation scribbled all across their faces, their inexplicable joy when they finally saw the lovely face they had waited months for.

And I was the first to hold.

There's so much I wish I could share but won't for certain reasons, but I just kept thinking, Wow.  I could never have dreamt up this part of the story.  I could never have imagined it.

You know why?

Because He's such a good storyteller.  And if we will be patient enough to sit and listen, instead of interrupting him constantly to try and figure out the ending, we can revel in, marvel at, and truly appreciate the incredible stories He weaves.

I wouldn't have understood if I had looked ahead for a peek at what was to come.  But because I haven't bypassed the story, I do.  I get it.  I get it.  What seemed like horrible, awful, could-not-have-been-worse timing turned out, remarkably, to be perfect timing.

So gather in a circle, sit cross-legged, and listen closely.  I can tell, this story's going to be a good one.

And remember, no peeking...


"Many are the plans in a man's heart, but it is the Lord's purpose that prevails."  ~Proverbs 19:21

Roots

I definitely don't have a green thumb.  In fact, I think my thumb shoots out poison that kills any plants within a ten-mile radius.

It's sad, really.

When we moved into our house in November, the developer was kind enough to start us out with some landscaping.  Nothing fancy, just a few shrubs, bushes, and one tree.  And they covered it in that awful Georgia pine.  If you've ever tried to plant or pull weeds in Georgia pine, you know that it's like sticking your palms in a knife drawer.  Because I'm so smart (read: ditzy), it took me a couple of times to figure out that you need to wear strong gloves when you're messing with it.

Once the weather got warmer, we decided to improve our curb appeal.  We ditched the Georgia pine for some luscious midnight black mulch, and I picked out a couple of Gerber daisies to plant along the front of the house.

A few days later, one of the Gerber daisies was missing.  Dru told me he thinks a deer ate it. (P.S., I haven't seen one deer since we moved out here.  I think he just didn't want to tell me that my poisonous non-green thumb killed it.)

Because pulling weeds became too tedious, he bought weed-killer spray, and unfortunately, he missed and sprayed all of our ground cover.  They shriveled and turned brown.  Desperate to keep something alive, I sat there on a humid Saturday afternoon and pruned every last one of those plants down to the nub, which was the only green part of them left.  The plants didn't just subsequently die, I'm pretty sure the earth opened up and swallowed them, because there were no traces of them to be found.

We really stink at gardening.

As the brutal summer heat wore on, we vowed to somewhat give up on our gardening until the fall, when things were more likely to survive.  But poor Dru couldn't stand the sight of our naked, shriveled lawn any longer, spending an afternoon at Home Depot shopping for new ground cover.

But a curious thing happened as he started planting that afternoon...

One of our little plants had decided it wasn't over yet.  Not yet.

After realizing it wasn't a weed, Dru let me know that one of our little plants had come back.  I asked him if any of the others had shown signs of returning, and he told me no.  That was the only one.

Wow.  That little plant must have some strong roots.

He thought about digging it up and planting a brand new one, but we decided that no.  It's come this far; why don't we see what it can do?

Maybe you feel like one of our plants today.  Maybe you feel like you've been sprayed to death; the heat's too much; there's no way, no reason you should keep growing.

You see others around you, just like you, and they've quit.  They gave up.

But no.  Not you.  You've got some roots.  Strong roots.  No matter how much the world tries to make sure you're stunted, well I'll be if you don't continue to stick around.

Not even just stick around.  My goodness, look how you've grown.

You may not feel it.  Maybe you aren't as grown and pretty as everyone else, but you certainly stand out.  Come on.  Keep going.  Don't give up.

Let's see what you can do.  Let's see what He can do.

"The righteous shall flourish like a palm tree, He shall grow like a cedar in Lebanon.  Those who are planted in the house of the Lord shall flourish in the courts of our God.  They shall still bear fruit in old age; they shall be fresh and flourishing."  ~Psalm 92:12-14