The other day I was stuck at home. Literally stuck.

Our 3rd van was parked behind our 2nd van, and the keys for the 3rd van
had gone on a field trip with the owner of the 1st van.

(How excessive to have 3 vans, I agree.)

I was stuck at home.
I was expected at school.
And I was running late.

I tore the house apart looking for keys. And then I did what any frustrated,
crazy, and spatially-challenged woman would do. I tried to extracate the 2nd van
from the garage. I FELT like driving it out the back wall! But I didn't. There were 7 bikes, 2 cats and a gas grill in the way.

Instead, I tried to turn the van around....in the garage. Midway through I realized that it would be impossible. Groaning with rage, I called school to apologize and explain my unexpected absence. Then I sat down, confused. I was overwhelmed with a few unscheduled hours at my disposal.

Why do we live like this?

Why are we so busy? "Busy, busy, dreadfully busy," the Veggie Tale character Madame Blueberry sings. "You've no idea what I have to do!" She trills about her involved life and sense of self-importance.

Are we all Madame Blueberrys? SO busy. SO self-important? SO nuts. Is it just me? Or are we all running late, trying to turn big vans around in small garages.....attempting to not miss a single volunteer opportunity....wildly devoted to the causes to which we've vainly overcommitted?

I don't want to be so busy. Do you?

The oft-quoted Psalm 46:10 says, "Be still and know that I am God." When on earth was the last time you sat still....like I did, when I found I was trapped at home?
When were you still? Quiet? With nothing on your mind? Last month, last week? When?

Be still means more than sitting, however. It really means to cease striving. Are we capable of this? How would it feel?

Don't press forward. Do hold back. Stop striving and seek God's face. Ask what He would have you do. Then wait until you get an answer.

Be still.

That's what I'm trying to do. So, friends, I might not answer the phone. I might not return your calls right away. And I will be fine if you do the same.

Take a moment.
Or two.

And if your van is in the garage, leave it there.
Cease striving...and start living.


Jesus said, "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly." John 10:10

Alex is playing a computer game where he competes his Hobo against other Hobos.

I asked the kids what a Hobo is. Here are some of their answers.

--Weird guy.

--Guy who doesn’t believe in Jesus.

--Man who doesn’t have a house.

--Homeless person.

What do you think a Hobo is?

I think of guys during the Depression who hopped on a (moving) train and went to a remote town, looking for work. I once read that the Hobos had a secret code to inform other Hobos of pertinent information. If a house they were approaching was friendly or hostile, they’d leave a specific sign on the road or the mailbox. Seeing the mark, Hobos would know if they should turn down the driveway, or keep pressin’ on.

Hobos are fascinating to me.

The word “Hobo” does not actually mean weird homeless guy who doesn’t believe in Jesus.

Hobo is short for “Homeward Bound.” Hobos were on the move, looking for work, food, purpose…and longing for home.

It occurs to me that as believers, we are Hobos in this world. Scripture tells us that this world is not our home. Our citizenship is in heaven. (Philippians 3:20). Like Hobos, we’re just passin‘ through….

Yesterday I had lunch with some dear friends and deep thinkers. We were talking about obituaries. I like to read obituaries. I’m looking for the stellar ones, not the cookie-cutter obituaries. See, to my sorrow, many obits are exactly the same. They are like a resume. This is because the funeral home gives the grieving family a “fill-in-the-blank” form and the information provided becomes a standard obituary.

Job Held?
Military Service?
Clubs and Organizations?
Schools & Churches attended?
Positions of Honor held?

I search the obituaries to find the occasional gem that breaks this mold and actually gives insight about the person. The best obituaries, I think, are those that inspire or give a challenge to the reader. For instance, when my friend Lisa went to live in Heaven, her sister Claire lovingly wordsmithed a gorgeous tribute. It challenged me. It shared how Lisa lived sacrificially, cheerfully and simply. Lisa lived without complaint. That is likely NOT how I will be remembered. But it’s a challenge and a beautiful snapshot of a Christ-like woman. I will always remember it and strive to be more like her.

How would you like to be remembered? How would you describe yourself? What advice would you leave to those left behind?

I’m not kidding when I say I think we should all be working on our Snapshots. (I propose that would be a more exciting term than “Obituary”.) After all, why do we take snapshots? To remember. To celebrate. To hold a moment in time. This snapshot, then, would be a celebration of what and WHO we loved. It could feature our most important life lessons. It might show what we wish we’d done differently.
It would highlight our faith and our Lord. Think about it. This final snapshot would be viewed by a totally captive audience.

No one is going to argue with you.

Because you’re no longer Homeward Bound…You Are Home!

From today forward, let’s think of dying as moving home. Let’s think of our time here as being Homeward Bound. And let’s consider our obit…er, Snapshots!, to be simply “Change of Address Cards.”

So be it.

It’s something I’ve been thinking about. I heard the phrase on a new Caedemon’s Call song. The artist sings about laundry, and dishes, and kids and wonders, “What if everything is sacred?”

What if it is?

We tend to divide our lives into sacred and not, church and not, God and not. Yet He created all things and is in all things. When we imagine that there are aspects of our lives that are apart from God, we deny the power of God.

He knows every hair on our head.
He knows what we are going to say before we say it.
He collects our tears in a bottle.

Therefore, He knows us pretty darn well. Better, in fact, than we know ourselves.

That might make us uncomfortable, because we like the idea of being our own bosses or really, our own gods. A god is in control. A god makes the decisions and leads the way. We want to be the mini god of our own (messed up) lives. Therefore, we try to box God up like a pair of shoes.

In our minds, we allow Him out on Sundays or when we’re in deep crisis. Then we put Him back in the box, and put the box back on the shelf.

We even speak to God as if He’s in a box. It’s like ordering at a drive through. There’s a speaker box and we speak briefly into it. We don’t see the person we’re speaking to. We don’t even care about the person we’re ordering from. It’s a nameless, faceless being who will fill our needs. Do you speak that way to God?

“I’d like a value meal.” God, I’d like a new job.“And a Frosty.” God, a bonus check would be nice around Christmas.

We drive around to pick up our order. We imagine God is the same way. Therefore, we're confused and even incensed when He doesn’t give us what we ordered. But God is not a drive-through.

God does not exist in a box. He is the entire world and everything in it.
We should not think that a drive-through relationship is enough. It's not.

It’s seriously hard to absorb that we were created in God’s own image, that He sacrificed all for us to live, and that He has work for us to do, work created since before there was time.

It is a heck of a lot easier to turn on the TV and watch LA Ink or Jon-and-Kate-plus-8, and lose ourselves in someone else’s wacky life.

Wait, is even that sacred?
No, LA Ink can’t be sacred…can it? But if EVERYTHING is Sacred???

I will admit that show fascinates me. (Local readers will recall that I gave up Miami Ink because they got really smutty, which seems to happen in Season 2 or 3 of every single TV show ever created.) LA Ink is new, and so far it’s not been smutty. It shows people coming with their very unique stories and a deep need to save a moment in time. I can relate. Scrapbook or tattoo, we all long for a permanent reminder of our significance.

Last night there was a guy who got a Phoenix tattoo, to commemorate his rebirth from back surgery. He had to learn how to walk again. This is not an experience he is likely to forget. The tattoo, however, allows him to tell the story to anyone who will ask. (Note: Always ask people what their tattoo means. They are delighted and it’s a really interesting conversation-starter!)

There was a beautiful young woman who had a portrait of her infant son tattooed in the crook of her arm, right where she nestled him in life. He died of crib death when he was 2 months old. Now his mom will literally “wear her heart on her sleeve”, in the form of his tiny, perfect face. He had just learned how to smile.

There was an LA entrepreneur who had a quote from Joan of Arc tattooed on her back. It said, “I am not afraid…I was born to do this.” Legend has it that Joan spoke these words before her final battle. Why doesn’t this lady simply put these words on her business card? She'll take these words to the grave.

Could it be that everything is sacred?

Tattoos and prayers?
Seasons and chores?
Reality TV and time?

Could it be that everything is sacred….whether we realize it or not?

God does not live in a shoebox.
He inhabits all the earth.

Everything is sacred.

What do you think?

On my computer, if things get really messed up, you can exit out of the program and start again. You can refresh. Would you do that with your life?

If things are really, really bad with the computer, you can reset it completely. You get the pick the date that it was last and best working, and push reset to that date. Anything that happened after that date is erased forever.

If you had a reset button on your life, would you set it? I’m being serious. Would you?

Take a quiet moment and think of some of your dark days. They are different for each of us. A death. An addiction. A betrayal from a close friend. Arguments. Disappointments. Despair.

Would you push reset and miss those things entirely??? It’s tempting.

One of my favorite “feel better” greeting cards says, “Wouldn’t it be great if life were a VCR tape and you could fast forward through the bad parts?”

Maybe you wouldn’t get rid of the challenges altogether. Maybe instead of reset, you’d push fast forward.

I'd like to erase this morning. I had an argument with one of my teenaged sons before school. I said, “Not another word or you’re grounded for the weekend.”

He had another word. Several hundred more words. I got more and more angry.

His argument was that his “more words” were used to explain his position and justify his actions. My argument was that “not another word” was an absolute. God gives parents authority over their kids. (Yet in the pursuit to be cool, many parents don't exercise this authority and often that leads to trouble for the whole family.) I’m not an authority junkie. I don’t like to argue. Yet what I tried to convey to him (loudly) was that by continuing to speak when told to be silent, he was really saying:

--I don’t respect you.
--You can’t make me.
--You’re not the boss of me.

Acknowledge it or not, I’m the boss of that boy.

Acknowledge it or not, God is the boss of us.

Yet, He is merciful. He allows us to “have a say.” He’ll hear us out.

The good, bad and unlovely things we have to say to God. He can take it. Let it out! Read the Psalms and you’ll see that David as often yells or whines or begs God as he does praise and magnify His name and His creation.

God said that David was a man after His own heart. I take this to mean that he likes the raw emotion.

Bring it.

I served at a retreat with my speaking ministry, and some raw emotion came forth. A woman pointed a finger in my face and yelled, “I can’t pray like YOU do! I can’t do what YOU say.”

But she wasn’t mad at me, really. She was mad at God. Somehow, it felt safer to tell me.

Voice cracking, heart breaking, she told me, all right. But I'm just a human. I have no healing touch. Tell the Lord, I begged her. He's listening right now.

Take it to the Lord. He can take it.

But she was afraid. She’d been taught that it’s not okay to be mad at God.

I’m here to tell you, it’s okay.

It was okay when my son got mad at me. We came to an understanding of each other's positions. That's what the Lord wants from us. Frank talk. That's how we'll come to know each other better. God desires to enter an eternal conversation with you and some yelling will be okay.

Come to think of it, I wouldn't refresh or erase the morning. It's brought us closer, after the storm.