Posted in Anxiety, Faith

Trust the Ripple

Social media altercations.
The confusion over COVID.
Systemic racism.
Riots and looting.
Unkind political rants.

I just want it all to STOP.  STOP.  STOP.

It’s too much for me.

WAY TOO MUCH.

One minute, I want to crawl into my bed and pull the covers over my head.  Wake up when this is all over.

The next, I have visions of marching in my very own one-person protest with a big bold sign that screams and shouts, “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? (and ME for that matter)?”

Fifteen minutes later, I feel the forceful drive to “get the heck out of here!”  The colonization of Mars sounds pretty good about now!

After an hour, I’m sitting on the couch, binging my latest show, eating popcorn until my belly fights back.

It’s all WAY TOO MUCH.

I so desperately want peace and love and hope and harmony and unity.

I want LOVE and GOODNESS to beat back the forces that harm.

I cry out to God in the middle of it all.

What am I to do?  What am I to do?  I can’t fix this.

It’s all WAY TOO MUCH.

Covers?

March?

Mars?

Popcorn?

PLEASE!  It’s all I have.

Not true, God reminds me.  Not true at all.

You have ONE DROP of GOODNESS.  ONE DROP.

You can pop a comment on social media that encourages someone, reminding them they are not alone.

You can go to the local hardware store and buy that lightbulb.  You can wear a mask (even if you have no idea whether or not it really works).

You can call your black friend and have an uncomfortable conversation, listening to the pain that they’ve shoved down for much of their life.

You can pray for the looter and the looted, asking Me to do what I do best:  reconcile and redeem.

You can vote, mailing that ballot today.

But mostly, you can remind yourself that I am behind every single and seemingly insignificant DROP OF GOODNESS.

I can and will expand it beyond measure so that the world is changed for the better forever by that ONE DROP OF GOODNESS.

Trust ME and TRUST THE RIPPLE!

Trust the Ripples

 

 

Posted in Celebration

Redeeming Mardi Gras

Images of Mardi Gras swirl in my head.

Debauchery.  Excess.  Lewdness.  Abandon.  Sensuality.  Revelry.  Beads.  Licentiousness.  Drunkenness.  The pursuit of pleasure at all costs.

I’m not sure about you, but I have a super complicated relationship with pleasure.

At times, I overestimate its value and seek it with abandon at any cost to my own demise, still unsatisfied and longing for more, kind of like what will be happening today in New Orleans.

In other moments, I squelch it, deeming it unnecessary, and certainly not “Christian” and even harmful to my wellbeing.   I swing from feasting to fasting, just trying to figure it out this complex partnership, never quite landing anywhere.

I need pleasure.  You need it.   It’s really good for me, especially when it’s in its designed space, as my kind and faithful servant and not my harsh and self-seeking master.  It’s a straight-up gift from God to remind me of His goodness.

When I think about it, I’ve been given five senses to experience joy and delight for just this very reason, the immense freedom to enjoy the goodness of God.  It’s no wonder the Psalmist says,

“Taste and see that the Lord is good.”

  • I taste delectable flavors (potato chips and milk for me…I know…super strange), savoring each sip or bite.
  • I hear sounds that excite and both calm my soul and levels unreached in other ways (my favorite is the garage door closing when my budding adult is home after a night being out).
  • Through the sense of touch, I know comfort and bliss (warm sunshine on my face after a long winter), and also experience love and intimacy with the people I love (a long hug with my hubby).
  • My sight allows me to capture the untarnished beauty of the world (butterflies fluttering in my garden brings me personal joy).
  • My sense of smell gives me a completely unique experience of the life around me (lilacs in May and peonies in June for this New Jersey girl), especially and uniquely mine, a true gift in a world of billions of people.

I am reminded I am one-of-a-kind and God does some things just for me!  How amazing is that?!?

Today, take a minute to think about what brings you pleasure.  You may have just forgotten because of all the overwhelming “duties” on your plate.  What is your favorite thing to taste, see, touch, hear and smell?

Hopefully carve out just a few moments on this Mardi Gras to experience even one, savoring it as you do, bringing your senses to life and reminding you that “Yes.  God’s creation is good” and He’s gifted it to you to declare to your heart His unending goodness and unfailing love!

TRULY ENJOY.

From My Heart to Yours

Posted in Faith, Motherhood, Thanks

Kindness Answered the Phone

You know that moment when your “check engine” light goes on during a 3,000 mile trek across the country and you are in the middle of Kansas?

Now I do.

On Day 4 of a thirteen-day whirlwind trip, 1,700 miles in, this warning light flashed LOUD and CLEAR! Slight panic coursed through my veins as we were supposed to be picking up my daughter’s friend at the Denver Airport at 6 pm and there were 7 more hours to go and the time read 10 am.

With tears leaking out the corner of my eyes and fear beginning to creep slowly, I made a phone call to a random mechanic that Google Maps said was “along the route.”

You know what happened? KINDNESS answered the phone!

KINDNESS in the form of a young man (maybe 20 years old) who works at J & R Automotive in Junction City, Kansas.

KINDNESS in his voice that he would take care of us and run a diagnostic test for FREE.

KINDNESS as he called back and asked the make, model and year of the car so he would be able to take care of us immediately as we arrived only 20 minutes later.

KINDNESS as greeted us and asked if we needed something to drink.

KINDNESS as he spoke about what was wrong and how they could fix it in the next three to four hours.

KINDNESS as he called for the part and assured us it would be here within minutes from the local parts store and he would NOT charge a mark up.

KINDNESS as he offered to drive us to the local library where there is free WiFi and air conditioning.

KINDNESS as he did EVERYTHING he could to get us on our way again.

You know what happened? THAT PANIC, THAT FEAR, that feeling of “who is going to help two women traveling alone in the middle of nowhere?” is gone! My heart is resting in peace. My Word of the Year, Shalom, is reigning in the middle of the mess.

All because of this young man. And his KINDNESS.

One more aside! Praise music blasted in the background as the mechanics worked on the car.

God knew exactly what I would need. I didn’t need to go to the Wizard of Oz Museum in Kansas. I needed KINDNESS.

“Clothe yourselves with kindness.” Colossians 3:12

Posted in Faith, Family, Friendship, Grief, Thanks

Dear Mrs. Geiger (#goodgrief),

“Someone is sitting in the shade today because someone planted a tree a long time ago.”  (Warren Buffett)

Dear Mrs. Geiger (otherwise known as Grandma to my kids),

This weekend, I was flipping through my beat-up recipe book trying to figure out what to eat with Allen.  I came across an old-fashioned casserole recipe that you had given me. Made with Rice-A-Roni®, cream of mushroom soup, diced chicken, corn and breadcrumbs.  Usually, I am fairly health-conscious, but it didn’t matter one bit.  I was determined to make it just to honor the fact that you gave it to me (and from what I remember, it was yummy).

From the first time I met you, I felt loved.  The year was 1990.  Me:  a twenty-something, red-headed, spicy girl in a new church in the middle of  a budding romance.  You: a sixty-ish, white-haired grandma, with a contagious laugh (I can even hear it now) and a servant’s heart.  You were pretty spicy yourself.  Little did I know what was in store for the next eight years.

Right from the very beginning, you began planting seeds of kindness and goodness into me.  You were unlike anyone I had ever met.  I wasn’t sure why I was chosen, but I was happy about it.  Within months of knowing me, you invited me (and my new love Allen) over for dinner.  As we pulled up to your Cape Cod on a quiet cul-de-sac in the darkness of winter, candles flickered in the window inviting us to the feast you would set before us and the warmth of your love (and Mr. G’s) inside.

As the months and our romance progressed and I struggled to convince Allen that I was the love of his life, you called me to your home once again and said, “Let’s get on our knees and ask God about this.”   Onto our knees we went beside your bed.   I’m not even sure I had a choice.   I found out we weren’t asking God about anything.  You were telling God that He needed to make Allen see what a gift I was and that he should ask me to marry him immediately.  It was crazy bold and I felt loved.  How good and kind you were to me.

It was sooner than later that your bold prayer was answered and Allen asked me to marry him.  You had us over for a celebration complete with an Italian dinner, those candles again flickering in the window inviting us into your home and more importantly, your heart.  That evening, we spoke of our discouragement in finding a reasonably-priced rental.  Immediately, you told us you would phone the widow who owned the empty home next door and ask if she would be willing to rent to us.  We were not only overjoyed at your kindness, but also because our frustrating home search might be over.  You called the next day.

Within a few months, just weeks before our wedding day, I moved in to 23 Edward Court, the little Cape Cod right next door to you and Mr. G, 27 Edward Court.  After our return from honeymooning in the Smokey Mountains, Allen moved in with me and we started our married lives together, happy to know that you were only about 30 feet away, filled with love, goodness, grace, kindness and wisdom.  What a treasure.  The next several years began to unfold.

You were one of the very first people I told when I found out I was pregnant with our first child.  You invited us over several evenings for dinner as I awaited my baby, juggling work, pregnancy and our new home.  You gave me recipes as a new wife that I made without the same ability and patience as you.  You prayed with and for me, listening to all my hopes and fears about these new chapters I was writing.

When Sarah arrived, you immediately called yourself “Grandma” and Mr. G “Poppy.”  You brought the Rice-A-Roni® casserole (the above one I made this weekend) the day I came home from the hospital, providing food and love once again in a time where I was exhausted and didn’t know my right hand from my left.  The seeds of kindness and goodness you sowed in my heart began to bud.

Time marched on and I had more babies.  You were the truest Grandma in every sense of the word, having Sarah over for tea parties and doll-house playing, beckoning Jared into your home to push the button to make the “choo choo train” whistle, poking Josh in the belly button, reminding him that it was his “tortellini” and causing bursts of laughter for all.  You viewed the dirty fingerprints covering your glass door from six little Goetz hands as marks of love.

You celebrated our birthdays, always making my favorite angel food cake in February and serving Allen a London broil on the grill in our backyards in August.  Our kids expected just the right gift from you on their big days and they had no idea you were anything other than their family.  The truth is you weren’t.

Our lives kept moving along in sync with each other, as we attended the same little church, lived on the same little street, and enjoyed the same little moments over and over and over.  Cups of tea, your love for Bermuda and our promise to go there on our 20th anniversary (which we did), visits for missing ingredients in the dishes I was making (too many times, I am embarrassed to say), stroller walks, laughter until our bellies hurt, tools borrowed, meals eaten together, wisdom shared (this was a one-way street), and hearts connected.  The seeds of your kindness and goodness bloomed in my soul.

The winter came when Allen and I felt we had outgrown our small home.  We began looking.  Knowing we would leave you gave us deep sadness.  When we mustered up the nerve to share this with you, you had your own news.  You were ready to move on to your next home as well, an adult community in beautiful Lancaster, PA.  We were relieved yet very sad.  As the months stretched ahead, we had garage sales and goodbye parties.  We shed mutual tears and shared excited hearts.  And as God would have it, our move dates were only days apart.  At the end of August, 1998, we both packed up all our belongings side-by-side and headed out into the next chapters of our lives.  We both said we couldn’t have done it any other way.

Of course, over the next many years, we visited you often and you came to our new home and we shared beautiful moments together.  One more time, you welcomed our last baby, Rachel, with open arms and hearts.  But the plain and simple truth is that it was never quite the same.  The true gift of those eight years living right next door, sharing our tables and our hearts, was once-in-a-lifetime, something I will treasure forever.  But as we know, kindness and goodness are the gifts that keep on giving.  Those seeds that you planted in my life are growing into a beautiful tree filled with abundant harvest and hopefully shade for others, that same shade you provided for me.

Today, I am a kinder and better woman, mom and wife because of you.  Allen is a kinder and better man, husband and father because of you.  My children are kinder and better human beings, budding adults, spouses, friends, sons and daughters because of you.   I don’t know why I was chosen for to receive this grand, beyond-my-imagination gift.  I am eternally grateful.

It’s been about six years since you passed away.  The last time Sarah and I sat with you in your apartment (only three weeks before you were gone), you shared your excitement about going to see Mr. G (Poppy to Sarah) and Jesus very soon.  You planted more seeds of kindness and goodness even that day.  You gave Sarah a special teacup from your collection, a wonderful reminder of all the tea parties you had with her when she was just a little girl.  You gave me, as I looked into your eyes and hugged you fiercely one final time, the greatest gift I could ever receive, the gift of yourself.

I miss you and Mr. G very much.   I can’t wait to eat that casserole today.

With All the Love and Thanks I Can Muster,

Esther