Disruptions

Over the weekend, a friend sent me a link to a blog about a family who adopted two children from Ethiopia in June. In two of her recent posts, here and here, the Mom writes about how her life has changed from being childless to mothering two little ones. Her "new normal" has come with lots of little interruptions in the form of "one-more-big cuddle hug." And she loves it.

I had just read those two posts yesterday and had them on my mind when my pastor made this statement in his sermon today: "Pursuing Christ disrupts our lives if we are doing it right." He then went on to talk about how we have to realize that the disruptions are worth it.

Disruptions occur in my life on a daily basis: a traffic light that is blinking red in all directions and delaying the flow of traffic to a phone call coming in during the middle of a project to a letter in the mail that requires me to take additional actions. I didn't wake up knowing that any of those things would intersect my day. Yet, I tend to greet each of those items differently depending on how they benefit me. It's as if there's an intuitive "weighing process" that occurs instantaneously that I'm not really conscious of. For instance, sometimes the traffic lights flashing red give me time to search through my purse and put on lipstick, but other times, they just make me late to work. The phone call, depending on who it is from and the time it arrives, also gets different responses. Same with the mail.

Yet, with any of the disruptions, I could choose to respond positively if I set out to do that. But it's as if I need to be more aware of the intuitive process.

That goes along with our pastor's challenge to think critically about why something is bad or good. In my examples above, that might mean looking deeper to see why some of those disruptions create a negative reaction. Is it because I didn't plan well and was going to be late anyway? Is it because I hold out my time as more important than others'? That's when it starts to not look so easy or so pretty.

But the real question is whether I will allow Christ to disrupt my life. Maybe the traffic light was a disruption for a purpose. Or maybe the phone call that I want to ignore is an opportunity to pray for someone. And I might miss it. Especially if I am in the mindset that MY time is king and no one will get a piece of it because it is already earmarked for MY purposes. Oh how I don't want that to be my mindset.

Lord, help me respond with an open heart when disruptions come my way. Help me to recognize that some disruptions have greater purposes than I will ever see or know and that Your disruptions are worthy of my time.

Customer Service, Where Art Thou?

The electric bill arrived in the mail with a note that said I needed to call for a meter reading schedule because they could no longer estimate my electricity usage. I postponed making the call as long as I could because I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I had no idea what I was in for.

Call #1 (after following the automated prompts and receiving a live person):
Me: Hi, I need a meter reading schedule.
Customer Service Rep: Huh? (said with a foreign accent)
Me: I need a meter reading schedule (said louder and with more enunciation).
CSR: Huh?
Me: A METER READING SCHEDULE.
CSR: (no audible response)
Me: (hanging up the phone)

Call #2 - 1 week later
Me: Hi, I need a meter reading schedule.
CSR: Ok. What your address?
Me: (giving address while pondering why that is not listed anywhere in my account)
CSR: So that's V-L-O?
Me: (wondering whether there is any street in the English language that begins with that combination of letters, but spelling my street name again)
CSR: Okay, so your address is . . . (transposing the numbers)
Me: (giving correct numbers again)
CSR: Okay. I mail you meter schedule for rest of year. Then you call back in January for another one.
Me: How about if you put a note in my account that says, "Customer requests that a 2010 meter reading schedule be mailed when it is ready."
CSR: Ohhh. You hold while I type that.

So when I found an envelope from the electric company in my mailbox the following Saturday, I thought I could check that task off my to-do list. Until I opened the envelope and found my payment history. For the last 3 years. Clearly, that sounds exactly like a "meter reading schedule."

Call #3 (becoming accustomed to calling electric company on my lunch hour)
Me: (interrupting recorded prompts) Supervisor!
Electric Co's robotic prompt: I understand tha tyou want to talk to a live person, but please answer some additional questions, so I can direct you to the right person.
Me: (playing along)
Live CSR: How can I help you?
Me: I need to speak to a supervisor.
CSR: I'm sorry, I can't do that until you give me some information.
[There is a 5-minute conversation during which I get pretty ugly because none of my reasons, including my I-have-a-problem-with-my-bill excuse, meet this gatekeeper's expectations. I don't recall the magic words that got me placed on hold for exactly 5 minutes before a manager picked up.]
Me: I have a simple problem that you can resolve.
Manager: Okay.
Me: I need a meter reading schedule, but my 2 previous phone calls have not resulted in that.
Manager: I see that we sent you one on Oct. 19.
Me: No, unfortunately, you sent me a payment history.
Manager: Oh.
Me: So if you'd put a meter reading schedule in the mail, I'd appreciate it.
Manager: Okay. I just need to place you on hold for 4-5 minutes.
Me: You have my request and you have my address, so please just put the schedule in the mail.
Manager: We understand that it is an inconvenience to place you on hold, but company policy says that we can't make any changes to your account without your being on the phone.
Me: But, I am on the phone with you right now, and you are in my account. What do you need from me after the hold time?
Manager: Nothing.

It wasn't pretty after that folks. I tried to explain how that was the definition of insanity; he played the "policy" card again and told me I wouldn't get a schedule if I hung up; and I hung up on principle. I felt like I'd logged my share of hold time.

To say that I was angry after I got off the phone with the electric company would be putting it mildly. I felt played. I have a simple request; I'm not even arguing over my bill (yet). But for whatever reason, I'm not being heard or understood.

I think that the frustration that surfaced as a result of those calls was really the culmination of feeling unheard in other areas of my life. Like feeling unheard by God. I know that's not true. But it feels that way sometimes. And in the midst of that, I can scream and pout and ignore Him, or I can continue to put my requests before Him and wait expectantly for an answer, knowing that He always hears and sometimes chooses to say "no" or "not now."

Just like the electric company with the meter reading schedule. Speaking of which, it looks like I'm due to put in another request. Wish me luck on that.

Stumbling Block Not Writer's Block

This is the post that's been rumbling around in my head and my heart for the past couple of weeks. It's the one that I wrote and then was tempted not to post. I kept trying to tell myself that it's not a big deal; it's not worth posting. But really, it is a big deal to me, whether I like it or not. So from that standpoint, I've persuaded myself to go ahead and post what I wrote during my birthday week.

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I've been dreading this week for a while. For some reason, turning thirty-five has a powerful hold on me. But it's not the number. It's the number combined with life circumstances. And I wish there was some way to convey that without sounding like poor pitiful me because I know that I am very blessed. I put forth the following because to type anything less would be to dishonor the feelings in my heart and because I hope that this will provide insight on how not to respond to others in similar circumstances.

My birthday has come up in several conversations lately with people I don't really know, and the conversations generally went something like this:

Lady in passing: Did you say that your birthday is this week?

Me: Yes. It's the first one that I've actually dreaded.

Lady in passing: Really? Which one is it?

Me: 35.

Lady in passing: Oh, well I turned [insert age higher than 35] recently. Thirty-five is nothing.

Me: (Trying to smile outwardly and grimacing inwardly because Lady is married and has children. She has no idea what it is like to come home on her birthday to no one, except a Golden Retriever. Yet, there's no way to explain all that is going on in my heart in a passing conversation with someone I don't really know.)

It's not that I never thought I'd turn thirty-five; it's that I never dreamed I'd turn thirty-five and not have a husband and family to share that day with.

Two years ago, I told my friends that if I was still single at thirty-five, I was going to plan a big party for my thirty-fifth birthday because I wanted the benefit of having everyone together like when family and friends gather for a wedding and wedding reception. But in order to plan that big get-together, I had to commit to the fact that I would be single. And I just couldn't bring myself to admit that. Needless to say, the big party never occurred.

But my sweet friends--both married and single--helped me celebrate my birthday and got me through it. It's been their (your) encouragement that has carried me through some lonely nights. So thanks for understanding and for loving me well.

It Was Bound to Happen

One of my biggest fears played out today, the day before my big 3-5 birthday.

When I got ready to leave work, Elevator No. 6 showed up. Because that particular elevator trapped my friend Clarissa in it for 30 minutes on a Friday evening, I refuse to ride it at the end of the work day. So, I got in it, pressed the button that would send it to the bottom floor, and got out before it departed. I felt like all was well.

Until Elevator No. 4 showed up.

Elevator No. 4 creaks. Not just on rainy days or cold days. Every day. I have turned it in to the authorities no fewer than 7 times. All to no avail. Maintenance keeps making excuses for the noises Elevator No. 4 makes. I don't buy them. But I needed to be somewhere by 6, so I jumped in. All by myself.

Elevator No. 4 was cruising along just fine. I even thought, "Well that wasn't baaa . . . Whoa. Major stoppage. Loud crashing sound. Feels like it slammed into something. Yet, it says it is on the ground floor. The doors aren't opening. I must press the call button. Now it is going up a little bit. Now it is going down a little bit. Should I push another floor?" As the emergency call was going through and before I pressed any other floors, the doors opened.

It took 0.00003 seconds for me to leap from Elevator No. 4 and run to the maintenance office. I quickly recounted my story. When the head maintenance guy appeared and said, "You again? I just fixed the ceiling in your office."

Yep, that's me. The Troublemaker. The one who had a major plumbing leak in her office ceiling today. The one who got trapped in an elevator. All. By. Herself. But who lived to tell about it.

And has to face the big 3-5 tomorrow. I hope it's not as bad as today.

Shelter

I drive under this bridge at least once a day and sometimes twice. Throughout all the torrential rains we've had, I've noticed how it provides a bit of shelter. No matter how hard it is raining, the rain can't penetrate this bridge. So whenever I drive under the bridge, my car gets a little reprieve from the pounding rain.

The weather forecast predicts more storms tonight. But maybe thunderstorms don't get on your radar. Instead, maybe your storms look like a loved one battling an illness, a tough situation at work, kids bickering, or any number of other difficulties that come our way in life. And maybe you are nowhere close to a physical place of shelter from life's storms. Here's a reminder of the Shelter we can all seek, no matter where we are.

Psalm 91
Those who live in the shelter of the Most High
will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
This I declare about the Lord:
He alone is my refuge, my place of safety;
he is my God, and I trust him.
For he will rescue you from every trap
and protect you from deadly disease.
He will cover you with his feathers.
He will shelter you with his wings.
His faithful promises are your armor and protection.
Do not be afraid of the terrors of the night,
nor the arrow that flies in the day.
Do not dread the disease that stalks in darkness,
nor the disaster that strikes at midday.
Though a thousand fall at your side,
though ten thousand are dying around you,
these evils will not touch you.
Just open your eyes,
and see how the wicked are punished.

If you make the Lord your refuge,
if you make the Most High your shelter,
no evil will conquer you;
no plague will come near your home.
For he will order his angels
to protect you wherever you go.
They will hold you up with their hands
so you won’t even hurt your foot on a stone.
You will trample upon lions and cobras;
you will crush fierce lions and serpents under your feet!

The Lord says, “I will rescue those who love me.
I will protect those who trust in my name.
When they call on me, I will answer;
I will be with them in trouble.
I will rescue and honor them.
I will reward them with a long life
and give them my salvation.”

Sacrificial Acts of Love

Instead of the usual book review, I decided to participate in the writing assignment/challenge issued as part of the blog tour for Mary DeMuth's latest novel A Slow Burn, which is the second book of the Defiance, Texas trilogy. The book released this week and is available on amazon.com here. For a list of other participants in the blog tour, check out this link.

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In August 2003, after I had endured three months of excruciating pain, the surgeon agreed to remove my gall bladder. In his wisdom, he scheduled the surgery for August 8, exactly one week before I was slated to close on the purchase of my first house.

I wanted the surgery even more than I needed it, so postponing was not an option. Trying to reschedule a planned move and closing proved too costly. So knowing that I had to pull off all the details involved with those two big life events in the span of a week, I put out a cry for help. And my friends answered.

Tracey got up at o'dark-thirty, picked me up from my apartment that was nowhere near her house, and drove me to the hospital for my surgery.

Sallie allowed me to recuperate at her house so that I wouldn't have to climb the stairs to my third-floor apartment.

After I returned to my apartment, Melissa brought over all the cookware and ingredients to make me dinner and then engaged me in a game of Scrabble to keep my mind off the impending move.

Angela and Layne drove in from Denton and Frisco after a long day's work to pack my belongings.

And Rebecca, who had known me for only a few weeks, came and cleaned my apartment and then volunteered her son to help me move.

Together, my friends conquered my long list of needs. They gave up sleep, comfort, time, and money in order to love on me. And in my weakened state, I could not repay their acts of kindness; I could offer only a meager "thank you."

Six years have now passed since my surgery and move, but my friends' sacrificial acts of love remain fresh on my mind. They encourage me to think of ways in which I can show sacrificial love to others when they need it most.

With Excellence

When a church sets as one of its core values to honor God through the pursuit of excellence in all aspects of its ministry, watch for amazing things to happen. Like having 168 church members work for four months to produce and present a Broadway-caliber performance and to then give out tickets for free.




I witnessed this firsthand over the weekend as I sat in the audience for Christ Chapel Bible Church's presentation of The Music Man. The church exhibited excellence before the show even began by seating approximately 1,000 people in 12 minutes, giving out high-quality playbills, and luring in the audience with incredible sets to marvel over (i.e., a locomotive in center stage sprayed steam into the air every few minutes). And when the orchestra struck up the first few notes of "Seventy-Six Trombones," I knew we were in for a treat.

The cast's talent could easily have competed for parts in the Broadway version of this classic; the singing and dancing was flawless. The man who played Professor Harold Hill displayed more energy than Robert Preston did in the 1962 movie version of the musical. And at numerous times during the play, the stage was filled with fifty or sixty children and adults, and yet the dancing, singing, and choreography flowed seamlessly throughout.

The message of the musical is one of unconditional love, a love that we can all experience in Christ. Such love was demonstrated in Christ Chapel's production of the The Music Man as the cast and crew gave of their time and talents to thank God and to draw others to Him.

All too often, I seem to get in a hurry and offer God whatever I have left. Christ Chapel's production of the The Music Man served as a beautiful reminder to me to strive for excellence in all that I do because God deserves nothing less than my best.