Taking the Scenic Route

From my 2015 Journal.

I ran roughshod over a client’s will today in an inner healing prayer session, and God gently rebuked me with the thought:  “Sometimes you push toward the goal and miss what’s on the way.”

I admit that I’m a very goal-oriented person, going pell-mell through life, trying to meet deadlines, and I miss the fun in the process. Think road trip. If there’s a time crunch, take the freeway. But the scenic route is more relaxing, candy for the soul. The trade-off, of course, is more hours of traveling, more expense, and potentially missing out on what’s waiting for you on the other end of your trip because you took so long. But the process is part of the adventure.

I understand now how my work with the souls of clients can do more harm than good—that I can inadvertently traumatize them. Yikes! But then I must give myself grace—gaining experience is also part of the process.

I feel like I’m holding the reins of a team of highly charged horses, but Jesus says, “Be still.” How am I supposed to win the race if I calm the horses?

And again I hear, “Sometimes you push toward the goal and miss what’s along the way.”

My inner drive (my horses) need help!

Jesus says to give Him the reins. He lets the horses charge around the track to release their pent-up energy. Then we can begin a more controlled, deliberate walk around the track (or in this case, plow the field—because you don’t need racehorses on a farm!)

Which do you prefer—highway or scenic route?

Interruptions

From my 2015 Journal.

The Plan: The family is gone, so I can work all day on editing Simroots, a magazine for AMKs (Adult Missionary Kids).

The Reality (no kidding!) I counted:

            21 phone calls

            69 texts

            64 emails

            5 pieces of mail

            1 person at the door

            6 visits to my office

            0 Simroots

By the end of the day, I felt exhausted!

Visual:  I’m on a train with my bags packed, briefcase in hand, ready to move toward my destination. But every few feet, the train jerks to a stop. Sometimes people get on and some get off. Sometimes I step off in frustration from the discomfort of the jerking, but I dare not wander too far for fear I’ll not be on the train when it finally breaks free and starts moving again.

By the end of the day, I haven’t even left the station! What to do? I go inside the train station and find an indoor pool (don’t ask) and try to relax and unwind. But I’m still unnerved by the motion of the train. Being a task-oriented person, I prefer a bullet train—fast track, no station stops. I feel agitated, unsettled, irritated . . . certainly not at peace. If I’d known I was on a defective commuter train, I could have adjusted my expectations and been fine with it.

No, this is not the first time I’ve experienced this.

The related Memory:  While desperately in need of a nap when my baby was sleeping, the neighbor boy across the street relentlessly pounded away on something in his front yard. I’d just fall asleep when he’d pound again, jerking me awake. Irritated is too soft a word for what I was feeling!

Instead of praying that the boy would stop (I tried that), I could have prayed for supernatural rest. Instead of getting irritated that I wasn’t getting Simroots done, I could have turned my attention fully to the interruptions. And I could have stepped off the train and asked Jesus to tell me when it was time to get back on. Even if the train leaves without me, I can always catch the next one.

A 2021 Update: I have since learned that I’m more productive if I ask the Lord for direction first about what tasks He wants me to accomplish that day and in what order. When my mind is set, I then ask Him to hold the interruptions, except for those that come from Him. Then once a month I climb aboard a bullet train, a scheduled Karen Day with no interruptions allowed.

How do you feel about interruptions?

On the Subject of Music

From my 2015 Journal. I was raised on the great hymns of the faith at church, Gospel choruses at boarding school, Pioneer Girls camp songs (thanks, Miss Pat), and my mother’s favorite Gilbert and Sullivan record albums. (I memorized all the lyrics to “I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General” by the time I was 10.)

We had no electricity in our little African village, so record players had to be hand-cranked or run on low-quality batteries. I wasn’t exposed much to secular music or American culture until I was in high school.

Is it any wonder, then, that I struggle with contemporary worship music here in the USA? As hymns have been tossed out of our churches like old, worn-out socks, I find myself also tuning away from Christian radio stations and gravitating mostly to classical music when I’m alone in the car. Unlike the repetitious lyrics (I kid you not, I counted 38 repeats of one phrase this Sunday*), my preferred music soothes my soul and draws me upward.

I try not to judge you for your taste in music. Life would be boring if we were all alike. My eldest daughter sings along to every tune played over the intercom at Wal-Mart (there was music playing?). I respect your desire to listen to what matches your mood and gets your foot tapping and draws you into worship. But I prefer music that makes my soul relax. Am I weird? Is this temperament, personality, or a cultural or generational footprint that stamped itself on my soul?

As the music wars play on, I ponder what kind of music we’ll hear in heaven.** What will God’s voice sound like when “He quiets me with His love and rejoices over me with singing” (Zephaniah 3:17 NKJV)?

I do know that our churches would do well to vary their worship styles to draw more people in—from different generations, yes, but also for different temperament types. Not all of us are sanguines. We melancholies need something different for our souls. Just sayin’. (Though I’ll make an exception today and let you sing “Happy Birthday” to me.)

*A 2020 update. Recently our worship leader addressed the repetition issue. He explained that some people need positive reinforcement to solidify a truth in their heart—the same principle but opposite effect of writing lines for punishment at school (I speak from experience). For those of us who already know this particular truth, we can use the extra time praying for those who still need to hear it. I can now give more grace to my fellow worshippers instead of harboring a critical spirit.

**I just finished reading Imagine Heaven by John Burke, amazing accounts of near-death experiences. These people were incapable of describing the sound of angels singing or the thousands of human voices in many languages blended in harmony. There will be no music wars in heaven!

Fighting Fires

From my 2016 Journal. I feel like I’ve been fighting fires for months—rows of houses are ablaze or burned to the ground, and I’m tired of holding the hose, climbing ladders, and rescuing people. I’m weary, and the fires keep spreading. I also see gleeful little gremlins throwing gasoline over the houses.

Lord, I need your help!

A strong wind blows the fire back on itself, and water from the sky douses the flames. But suddenly the scene shifts and my perspective changes. The water is actually coming from a watering can, and the blaze is no bigger than a campfire. I’m just a little ant, so everything looks enormous—unlike from God’s perspective. All my effort and fretting just made me tired.

And so I ask the Lord, “What is my role? Do You want me to hold fire hoses or stand back and watch you work?” I think of Moses who obediently went to Egypt, but it was God who did all the work once he arrived.

I’m tired before going to my next appointment.

“Just show up and obey My instructions,” He says. “And I’ll do the rest.”

That helps. I can rest in that thought.

God Appointments

Excerpt from Diamond Fractal

Sometimes God makes appointments for us that aren’t penciled into the calendar. One day I had a lot of errands to run, and as I thought through the best route to take for the greatest efficiency and gas consumption, Wal-Mart came up first on my list. I parked the car, grabbed a cart, and “accidentally” met one of our clients coming out of the store. The look on her face was priceless, as she exclaimed, “I just prayed ten to fifteen minutes ago: Lord, I need to see Karen or Minna right now!” She was in crisis mode as she was on her way to a family member’s funeral.

And so God’s business was done in a makeshift office (her air-conditioned car in Wal-Mart’s parking lot) as we prayed together and she released her panic and dread to the Great Physician. “God is so good,” she kept reiterating. Indeed He is! Later she reported, “The funeral was amazing! No terror or panic. Just peace. I cannot thank you enough for following the leading of God and being there. I don’t know what I would have done.” There are truly no words to describe the love, mercy, and grace of our Father in heaven.

Another day, I walked into the dental office a few minutes early and sat in the waiting room. Immediately, the only other person in the room (an African-American man) turned to me and said, “I hate being here. I’ve served in the military and I’ve jumped out of airplanes, but I’m scared of a little ol’ dental appointment.”

“Why are you so fearful of it?” I asked.

Pause. “I’ll tell you why,” he replied. “When I was a little boy, my father had to wear dentures, and I remember the awful pain he had to go through.”

“Why was that so fearful to you?” I asked again.

He thought a moment. “Because I could imagine the tools the dentist had to use to extract his teeth.”

“What were you imagining?” I asked.

“A chisel and a screwdriver.”

And so I asked him gently, “Would you like me to pray with you?” His eyes lit up, he grabbed my hands, and exclaimed, “Sure!”

“Just look at the picture of the tools and focus on the fear,” I told him. And then I prayed, “Lord, what do You want to show this man in that picture?”

Immediately he relaxed. “He took them [the tools] away!”

“And how’s the fear now?”

“It’s gone! Wow!”

And then we had the sweetest time of fellowship, as he shared about his ministry to special-needs adults with a Christian organization down the street. The whole transaction maybe took all of ten to twelve minutes, but it was just long enough for God to jump in and do His miracle in this man’s heart.

Why Do I Care What Others Think?

From my 2013 Journal. I sprained my pinkie finger this week and had to tape it to the next finger to keep it stable and from feeling shooting pain anytime I bumped it. As I stood in church yesterday during a clapping song, I was conscious of how I had to restrict my hand motions in order to compensate.

All I could think about was what people would think if I just stood there and didn’t participate. Later I began to reflect:

#1 Why do I even think people are looking at me?

#2 If they are looking, are they judging me?

#3 Do they even care? Do I?

First of all, I suspect most people are doing the same thing I am—thinking more about themselves and what others are thinking of them if they act a certain way. And, yes, I think they’re judging—because I do it—judge people for their actions, that is. But so what if they judge or not? If they care or not?

More than feeling self-conscious, however, I think about my motive to set a good example. If I don’t clap, am I giving someone else permission not to participate in group worship? Do I hear a “should” in there somewhere? I want people to know why I’m not clapping. I can’t just stand there and not do it! Why not?

Claire Fontaine in Have Mother, Will Travel says,

Those who matter don’t mind, and those who mind, don’t matter.

How profound! It’s past time to let this one go. My worship must be God-centered rather than others-focused.

People, We Need People

What most people call trials and tribulations, I call class time.

(Degenhardt in Surviving Death)

From my 2012 Journal. Can I be honest? It’s so much more pleasant being around people who aren’t uptight, negative, or angry all the time. But it’s those very people who help me grow! Yes, I’ve had my share of losses and grief and experiences that have taught me life lessons, but it’s people—with all their flaws and triggers and woundings that hurt and jab and poke and bump into me that have given me the most fodder for growth opportunities. The continual sandpaper has removed some of my rough edges.

A 2020 update. Something I’ve observed during this COVID year: As an introvert, I’ve not minded the slower pace and the forced distancing from people. I feel more at peace when I’m in my own little bubble typing on the computer, doing a jigsaw puzzle, going for a hike, or reading a book. Isolation makes me feel content, but it doesn’t make me grow. I suspect it’s the opposite for extroverts who are happiest interacting with people. Isolation forces them to face their inner landscape—and that becomes their opportunity to grow.

Lean into the uncomfortable and watch God work.

What’s Your Excuse?

Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations (Jeremiah 1:5, NIV).

From my 2009 Journal. Jeremiah was a PK (Preacher’s Kid), for his father was a priest. One day God spoke directly to him—I assume in an audible voice. It’s pretty heady stuff to be chosen by God!

But Jeremiah’s objection to this calling reflected his fears: “Alas, Sovereign Lord,” I said, “I do not know how to speak; I am too young” (1:6).

What excuses do I make for not following God’s command: she’s too hard to love; he won’t listen; I can’t because . . . ; I don’t know how; I don’t have time; I don’t have the money. . .

God’s answer to Jeremiah (and to me):  Don’t be afraid because I AM with you.

The antidote to fear is experiencing God’s presence.

I feel a connecting point with Jeremiah. When God called me to the ministry of inner healing prayer, the only reason I said no to my fears and yes to God was because I had a strong sense of His presence. You can read all about that story in our book Diamond Fractal.

Praying for the Sick

From my 2009 Journal. I get a little confused when I hear others pray and teach on prayer for the sick. Chrissy claims the blood of Jesus “by His stripes we are healed” for anyone who is sick and expects instant physical healing. She had a little crisis of faith when her father passed away. One pastor says it’s weak praying to say, “If God wills” because we shouldn’t be asking for healing unless we know it’s His will. What if, he says, the illness is “unto death” and we don’t know the person’s heart? What if he/she needs to let go of rebellion before God wants to heal him/her? How can we ask if we don’t know what to ask for?

Maybe it’s God’s will that all be healed, but Man still has a will and a choice as to how he treats his body, and God is not obligated to override his choices. I can’t ask God to make a person choose something, but I can trust God to know how to get a person’s attention like He did for Jacob or for Jonah.

Somewhere there must be discernment in our prayers for the sick. The biblical author James says to pray for the sick, and the elders of the church should anoint with oil. Should we do this for every sniffle?

Sometimes I think we’re so focused on physical healing, we forget to pray for the spiritual. Jesus often mentioned the faith of the person who asked for healing. The disciples healed many sick after the resurrection. Did they stop to ask if the person wanted healing or what was preventing their healing?

Maybe our prayer for the sick could be, “Reveal to X anything that is preventing his healing, give him courage to face his pain, may God be honored through his responses and reactions, and heal his body if it will give God greater glory.”

I take comfort in the fact that God knows my heart. He can interpret my words and intent and use them for His glory. He knows me well enough to know what I believe and mean.

2020 Update.  I find it interesting to look back at how I struggled 10 years ago. Those questions no longer burn in my heart. It’s not that I have fewer questions; it’s that I’m more content with not knowing all the answers. I just ask and let God sort it out.  This past week a dear friend and prayer warrior had a massive stroke. The church gathered together to pray for her, but our emotions were conflicted. We wanted to see Mary Lee fully restored to health, but we opened our hearts and hands to release her to heaven. We trusted God to do what was best. Today she is dancing with the angels, and I’m okay with God saying no to the cries of our heart to give her physical life back.

photo of woman lying in hospital bed

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

BOXES OF PRAYERS

Each prayer is like a seed that gets planted in the ground. It disappears for a season, but it eventually bears fruit that blesses future generations (Mark Batterson in Praying Circles around Your Children).

From my 2009 Journal. As I continue to struggle with the concept of prayer, I can see myself seated in the middle of a room, conversing with Jesus. A large number of boxes line the periphery of the room. What are those? I wonder.

Boxes 2

“They are your prayers,” He says. “You had a question about them?”

How did He know? (Well, duh. He knows everything.)

“Yes,” I say. “I want to know what good are they?” They’re in files, categorized and maybe even numbered, but here they all sit, here in my mind. What good are they? I can go to a box, pull out a file, read what I wrote, but so what?

“Would you like Me to take them off your hands?” He asks.

“Sure. You’re welcome to them.” I have no clue what He’s going to do with them, but I agree.

Several angels enter and start picking them up, loading them onto carts, and removing them from the room.

“So now what?”

“Just sit and talk to Me,” He says.

“What shall we talk about?” I ask.

“Anything we like,” He responds. “Got anything on your mind?”

Nothing comes to mind.

“Okay,” He says. “Want to play checkers?”

Really?! This is the answer to my question “What good are they?”

“Do you trust Me?”

“Explicitly,” I reply.

“Then don’t worry about it. The angels know what to do with them.”

I watch as one angel pulls out a file and reads the contents. He laughs. Is he mocking me? Was it a silly little prayer that I tucked into that folder?

“Not at all!” responds Jesus to my thoughts. “It’s giving him something to do. He has an errand to run and delights in fulfilling my commands.”

“Your commands?! But that was my prayer!” I exclaim.

“But you gave it to me, didn’t you? You said you trusted Me with it. Now it’s mine to do with as I please. Some of the prayers will get dispatched immediately. Others need to stay in the box a little longer—it’s not time yet. A few of these files don’t belong there. We’ll sort them out and discard the redundant ones and the soiled ones. (We will replace those with clean copies before they’re dispatched.) A few we’ll just toss in the fire if you don’t mind.”

“Mind? Of course not! I trust You to figure out which is which.”

“Good,” says Jesus. “Your move.”

I mull over what He’s just told me. “So I don’t need to figure out what to pray or write down? Just do it, file it, and keep handing the boxes off to You?”

“Yep, that’ll work.”

“Jesus . . . thank You.”

“You’re welcome. You still have a question?”

“Yeah . . . does a bigger folder get more attention than a smaller one? For example, if I pray for someone once, it creates one sentence on one sheet of paper and makes one skinny file. But if I pray for someone daily, their folder gets stuffed and may even need a filing cabinet to hold them all.

I sense at once that no single piece of paper gets lost. But . . .

“So what’s your question?”

“Do You give preference to bigger files?”

“Do you trust Me?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Really?”

“I think so.”

“What would happen if this room burned down and all the boxes were gone?”

“It would feel like a waste.”

“But what if one paper survived? What if it was made of an incorruptible material?”

I raise my eyebrows.

“What if that one item was your heart? Prayers are important enough, but it’s your heart that I care about even more.”

“Wow!”

And all this time my focus was on how many prayers I prayed, how long I prayed, what I prayed—all the “shoulds” and “supposed tos.”

There’s no should in a love relationship.