Community- Part 1

As I think about all the things I hope to write about some day, I can already tell that COMMUNITY will be a recurring theme.  One of the most amazing expressions of community happened around this time last year when God dropped an amazing opportunity in our laps.  I'll save all the details for another blog, but the short version is that our church began working with a group we now call Isaiah 58 (at the time led by a man named William)- a ministry to those who are homeless or disadvantaged.  Around the same time, several of my close friends and I read, and then shared, books such as Crazy Love (Chan), 7 (Hatmaker), and Kisses from Katie (Davis).  We were wrecked to our cores.  Our stewardship of not only our finances, but also our time and talent, came under deep and swift conviction.

Have you ever had an amazing experience - alone - and then returned to family or friends and tried to adequately put it into words, only to realize you fall way short of doing it justice?  What was precious to you now is at risk of becoming a frustration.  If only those you love could have experienced it alongside of you!

I feel so blessed that this was not the case.  Right there with me, were my friends.  God was dealing with us all.  The conviction was no less strong, but with it came a comfort.  An understanding.  We were in it together.

I saved a couple of those precious texts.  Re-reading them for the first time tonight, I am so glad that I held on to them.  How much we forget! And how quickly!

3/20/12 text from my friend Erin:
Erin:  "I don't like you very much right now.  I just ate half rotten salad for lunch b/c there are starving children who would have killed for my lunch.  Thank u William, Katie Davis, & Jen Hatmaker.  I don't like u very much right now."

Me: "Ha!  I ate the crust on my bread today (which I always tell my children to do but personally revolt against).  I have substituted some of the craziest foods for dinner b/c I refused to go to the store and buy what we actually needed.  Etc etc.  Ray came home 'mad at God' one day last week."

By the way, Ray was "mad at God" because he was in on this thing too.  And while he agreed with my new frugal approach to meal planning, he hated it.  You can mess with a lot with that boy, but leave his food alone!

3/21/12 text from my friend Meg
Meg: "I just had a moment, in front of Marshalls.  There was a lady, with a sign, u know what it said.  I walked passed 'I am on the phone God, I'll catch her on the way out.'  I go inside, hang up, feel convicted, open my wallet. 'I only have $20 God, she may spend it on drugs.'  I keep walking deeper into the store.  God replies, 'and how is that different than spending it on a dress you don't need.' (which was for Anna's shower, btw) [Anna is a sweet friend of ours from church and Meg is helping host a baby shower for her this weekend].  I turn around, cross the street, hand her the $20.  She looks down and says 'wow, this is a lot.  I can go home now.'  We talk;  I share Jesus.  I want this new normal..."

Me: "Thx.  I am crying now."

Meg : "Thank our new 'friends' William, Katie, and Jen!!!"

Me: "Erin and I decided we'll all wear our oldest dress to Anna's shower :)"

3 hours later...

Meg: "No lie, found a dress in my closet I wore to MY REHEARSAL dinner- makes it over 10 years old!!!  May be a contender for Saturday. :)"

Me: "Chances are very good.  Especially since I just gave away half of my clothes!!!"

I have a million more texts similar to these from more friends than I deserve.  Technical testimonies to the kinds of friends have.  Ones who love Jesus, and spur me on to love Him more.  Friends who have my back.  Who don't call me crazy.... or more appropriately they DO call me crazy- and tell me to go for it anyway.  Friends who I don't have to explain myself to, because they already get it.  Friends who are far from perfect, like me.  But they are letting God have His way with them.  And they let me have front row seats for the show.

This community thing is so good.  I don't ever want to forget that or take it for granted.

Willing

Several years ago God began to work on my heart in regards to my perception of the homeless.  Like anything that I have been convicted of, the process was slow- not because God wasn't clear, but because I am dull.  Years later, when I finally "get it" I can look back and see how long it took me to arrive.  He is patient with me!

This particular transformation began with my attitude towards panhandlers.  I couldn't ignore them but I also didn't feel comfortable giving money.  At that time McDonald's sold $1 food vouchers in denominations of $5, $10, $20.  I bought some of those and kept them in my glove box.  If I saw someone holding a sign, I could tear out a few dollars of voucher money.

McDonald's stopped carrying those so I decided if I saw someone with a sign, I would go get them food and bring it back to them.  One time I did that and the person had 3 other bags of fast food at his feet by the time I returned.  Fail.

Off and on Ray and I have been known to carry bottles of water and Gatorade in our car, along with some granola bars or something similar.  This seemed like a much better alternative than giving hot food.

Fast forward a few years.  I read the book "What Difference Do It Make?".  It's a story about an unlikely friendship that formed between a wealthy art dealer and an illiterate homeless man.  The one lesson I took away from that book centered on dignity.  While I may have been meeting a small and immediate need of food, I was doing nothing to help a fellow human being feel.... human.  My friend Marty says if you offer a homeless or disadvantaged person $5 or 5 minutes of your undivided attention, they will want your attention every time.  I know that now.  I didn't know that then.  And giving a stranger my time made me nervous.

Not long after reading that book I went to Panera for lunch.  I was alone, which is like heaven to me.  I had a book with me, and I had no intention of talking to anyone:)  Not long after I sat down, right by the window, I saw a man walk by, all of his possessions in his shopping cart.  I don't recall if he was asking anyone for anything.  I don't think he was.  

"Invite him to eat lunch with you."

Crickets......

"How about I just buy him food?  He looks hungry."

"Invite him to eat WITH YOU."

I like to pull the "I'm just a girl" card, but only when it's convenient.  Currently, it was convenient.

"What if something happens?  I want to obey you, but I also want to be wise.  I have a family to think about, you know?"

"It's your choice."

I went out and spoke to the man.  I introduced myself and I asked him his name.  I invited him to lunch.

Sadly, I don't remember his name.  I don't remember much of what we talked about.  What I know for sure is that experience added another link to the chain to get me where I am today, which is still far from where I hope to be- but further along than where I was.

That was probably two years ago.  I haven't thought about that day much at all since then.  Until I drove into work this morning....

On my way I drove right past an older man sitting along the side of the road.  He had a suitcase beside him.  He was not at a bus stop pick up location.  He looked rough.

"Stop and talk to him."

"The road is busy.  I can't just stop.  Plus, I'm just a girl..."  You can imagine how the next 2 minutes went as I argued with myself.  And with God.  "Aren't I doing enough?  I've changed.  I have friends who are homeless.  I ate lunch with them yesterday!  It's not that I don't care.  Surely you know that.   I'm going to be late for work.  And he did look pretty sketchy.  Where does common sense fit in here?  I am pretty sure Ray would not want me to stop."

At this point I am a mile further down the road than I was.  Now it's just downright inconvenient.

"It's your choice."

Three U-turns later I approach the man in the vehicle.  I slow and roll the window down just as he stands up and begins to walk towards me.  

"Are you ok?" I ask.

He nods.

"You're OK?  Do you need anything?"  He doesn't.

Sometimes He just wants to know we are WILLING to obey.  Then we are off the hook.  Genesis 22.

Finding Margin

Ever had unsolicited advice come at you from several unrelated sources in a very short amount of time?  A few months ago, on multiple accounts, I had different individuals, in regards to raising kids, say things like:

"They grow up so fast."

"You'll blink and they will be bigger than you are."

"Enjoy these years, they go by too quickly."

A few months ago is also when we were preparing to close on our new home, and enter an insane season of renovation and moving.  The pressure was building.

On a day to day basis, we do OK.  We have settled into the demands of running a large family.  Meals are planned ahead.  Calendars and to-do lists are created.  Things get done.

But on a day to day basis we are not purchasing a house.  We are not moving.  We are not renovating.

I began to consider what a day in the life of the Jester family looks like.  Busy.  Hyper-structured.  But do-able.  Even sustainable I would have said (after all, we've been maintaining this pace for two years now).  What I realized is that it was do-able and sustainable IF everything went according to plan.  IF no one had to go to the ER.  IF everyone's behavior remained civil.  IF we weren't renovating a home.

But life is messy.  Seasons change.  Stuff comes up.  And the plan doesn't always fall into place.  Then what?

I hadn't totally lost it yet, but I knew I was reaching my limit.  And quickly.  I decided I wanted to heed the advice I had been given.  I wanted to recognize the truly important things in life (my family).  Something had to give.

I approached the leadership at church and let them know how I was feeling.  I asked for a reduced work schedule for the next couple of months, just to get through the renovation and move.  I stopped packing lunches every day and I let the kids eat school lunch (yes, this is a big deal for me but my kids loved it).  I didn't sign up for the new basketball season (a HUGE sacrifice).  I re-worked the family calendar so that we didn't have something going on every night of the week.  I was on a quest to create margin in my life- some room to breath.

The old me, the one with a stubborn and unteachable spirit, would have pushed through.  That Jody would have said "it's only a couple of months.  Suck it up and get through it."  That version of me thrives on people's comments, "How DO you do it all?"  That me likes to have it all together.  Likes hyper productivity.

But there's a new me surfacing.  One that craves some stillness.  Some peace and quiet.  Some down time.  A me that knows that while my physical body may be able to go go go, my spirit needs some rest.

It's been four months since my quest for margin began.  The house is ours.  The bulk of the work is behind us.  A normal work week has resumed.

I sat on the porch this afternoon, surrounded by family.  The french doors leading to our lanai were all opened.  The breeze was incredible.  The house was calm.  I had a few things to do today but nothing incredibly pressing.  My calendar was not overly full.  My soul is happy.  There is room to breath.

Basketball starts up again soon and I really miss it.  I signed up to play.  I started packing the kids' lunches again.  I am acutely aware of the fact that I am just a few decisions away from being back to over-scheduled.  I really don't want that.

Margin is a moving target- I plan to stay locked in on it.

You Could Fill A Book

Anyone who is around me much knows that I am never too far from my iPhone.  Back right pocket, quick on the draw to shoot a text.  I am far from the person who thinks that technology can replace meaningful, human interactions but honestly, what DID we do before text messaging?!  My kids are hilarious and on a daily basis say the funniest stinkin' things.  Many of them are text-worthy.  For example, last week I was playing catch with the boys.  Asa threw to Matthew and the ball fell 10 feet short of his glove.  Emotionless, Matthew utters "lame."  That's good content, people.  Funny stuff happening up in here.

Partly because I readily share funny kid stories, and partly because we stepped into mega-familyhood almost overnight, I have had several people encourage me to write these things down.  "You could fill a book."

Ray and I, along with some of our good friends (who we call family) are developing this idea.  We have this amazing community, a collection of lives and stories that are being woven together in such a beautiful way.  Aside from salvation, this community is perhaps the greatest gift I have been given (7 years is not so long ago that I have forgotten what it feels like to be lonely).  It is a gift, not only to me, but to my kids.  "Is anyone coming over tonight?" they ask in anticipation.  The answer is almost always yes.  

So this idea of putting our lives on paper is progressing.  I am keeping notes of things I hope to write about someday.  The funny kid comments are being documented.  I have asked people close to me to remind me of some stories gone by, ones we don't want to forget (thanks, Jen, for being my friend who remembers EVERYTHING).  I am encouraging Ray to write more.  If anyone needs to write, it's him.  That guy is deep, and hilarious.  The perfect combo for readers.  My friend Marty has started a blog about his homeless and disadvantaged friends (they're just friends to us, but the world seems to need the classification still).

Currently the stories are separate but we half-joke about compiling them some day.  Ray's quippy one-liners (packed with truth and humor) could serve as chapter titles.  Texts to and from each other could provide much of the content.  Real life.  Sometimes mundane.  Often chaotic.  Always authentic.  Full of love.  And totally worth writing down.

Publix Bagger Girl

Some time ago, I was running through the grocery store to grab a couple of needed items.  It's important to note that I had come straight from the dentist and my mouth was numb.  Stupid numb.  I was hoping to not have to talk to anyone.

I quickly grabbed the few things we needed (almost everything we get comes in bulk from Sam's... not much use for Publix nowadays) and headed to the check out line.  I don't recall exactly the order of following events, but I do remember it being chaotic.  One of those times when you feel like you are floating above yourself and then, suddenly, you snap back to reality and wonder what in the world just happened?

My phone rang during check out and I broke my own rule by answering it (the caller and I had been playing phone tag and I knew she only had a simple question that I would be able to answer quickly).  Remember, my mouth is still numb.  I am willing myself to appear as normal as possible.

I hang up and apologize to the cashier for taking a call during checkout (I think that is rude).  As she is scanning my groceries and passing them along to the bagger, she spots a half sheet of paper on the conveyor belt.

"Is this yours?" she asks me.

"It's mine'" replies the bagger, who is in her late teens or maybe early twenties.  "It's some invitation to a church thing.  The lady who gave it to me told me I need to be saved."

The bagger and I make eye contact and without even meaning to, I raise my eyebrows and do some sort of half eye roll.  Before I know it my groceries are bagged, I have paid, and I am heading out the door.  Mouth still numb.  Thankful to have made it through the shopping experience without having to talk....much.

Let me explain the raised eyebrow, half eye roll.  I am not the kind of person who would walk up to a total stranger and say "You need to be saved."  First of all, what does that even mean?  If you have never stepped foot inside a church you might even ask "Saved from what?"  It's just not my style.  I understand that everyone is different.  Not only is it not my style, I really don't think it's all that effective.  I believe that relationships are where life change happen and somehow I doubt that church lady had a relationship with Publix bagger chic.  There are times to be bold.  There are times to step outside of your comfort zone and invite a total stranger to church.  But based on what I know about church folk, and based on what I know about young, skeptical non-church folk, I just don't think telling someone she needs to be saved and inviting her to revival is going to be real successful nowadays.  So I raised my eyebrows a little.  And I paid for my groceries and left.

What happened next I can only describe as intense and clear conviction.  As I am heading out the door at Publix, I realize what my eye roll probably looked like to the bagger.  She didn't have the luxury of being in my head (not that I would call that a luxury...).  For all she knew I thought the whole Jesus thing was a complete farce.  Who needs to be saved anyway?!  What if she had actually planned on going to the church that night?  What if my eye roll sent the message to her that she was fine the way she was?  That we don't really need a Savior?  That the whole religion thing is just a waste of time?

I knew what I had to do.  I needed to go back and talk to her.  I needed to explain that I love God.  I love the church.  And I believe in both.  But that I think so often Christians get it wrong.  And I am sorry for that.

There was only one problem.  My mouth was numb.  Stupid numb.

"I am not walking back over there," I told myself.

The other me muttered something about eternal damnation.  Dag gone conviction.

I went to my car, unloaded my groceries, sat in the driver's seat, key in the ignition, and proceeded to argue with myself.  Then I made a plan.

Yes, I am feeling like a total fool at this point.  I knew going back in there was going to be nothing shy of humiliating.  I also knew that driving away was no longer an option.  I ALSO knew I couldn't talk without sounding like a stroke victim.

I wrote a note.  It went something like this:

"I want to explain my visual reaction to the invitation you received to church.  I realize my response may have made it seem like I thought religion, church, or God were bad ideas and not worth pursuing.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  I believe that God made the world and everything in it.  And that you are His finest creation.  I also believe the Church is the hope of the world.  It's God's plan to share His love with everyone.  I believe there are many who are getting it right.  But there are MANY who are not.  I don't know if the lady who gave you the invitation to church was kind to you or not.  I hope that she was.  And if she wasn't, I am sorry.  That's not right.  I just don't want anything I do or say to ever turn someone away from pursuing a relationship with God.  And I realize that me coming back in here to give you this letter is totally creepy and weird.  Again, sorry.  But I couldn't pull away wondering if I had somehow hindered you from seeing God."

I folded up the piece of paper, slid a business card inside, walked back into Publix, and handed it to her.

I see the Publix bagger girl every now and then.  I have no idea if she recognizes me as that psycho Jesus chic.  She doesn't run away screaming, so that's a good sign.  I don't know why conviction strikes when it does.  I just know I get that yucky feeling inside when I don't listen to it.

Hopefully I am learning to temper my responses a little better, and think before I act/speak.  I have also learned not to go to Publix when my mouth is numb.  Stupid numb.

Sticks and Stones

Last week on the way to gymnastics, Asa said, " Mom, Friday this brown skinned boy called me the
S-T-U-P-I-D word."
I asked, "What did you do?"
Matter of factly Asa replied, "I just lived with it.  Nothin' I could do about it anyway."
Lesson from my son.  Next time criticism comes my way, I think I'll let it roll off of me.  Hey, it worked for Asa:)
(PS- not sure why Asa felt the need to refer to the kid as "brown skinned".  If it makes you feel better, he refers to himself as the white kid.  So there.)

Body and Soul

The problem with writing is I think too much about it.  For instance, I sat down to write while eating a bowl of cereal.  I can multitask.  Except now the cereal is gone and I have spent 10 minutes fretting over how to begin a blog post.

First, there's the grammatical component.  If I am anything, I am my father's daughter when it comes to grammar and composition.  A properly constructed sentence is paramount.  There just ain't no way around it...(yes, I did that on purpose).

Second of all, is the question of who I am writing for?  If I think I am writing for someone else's benefit, more fretting ensues.  What I realized tonight is that I need to write for myself.  Or at least try to.  If someone else benefits, great!  If not, that's ok.  It wasn't about them anyway.

In my life there is always a sports parallel.  Some of my earliest memories involve playing on sports teams and practicing with my sister in the back yard.  I LOVE playing sports.  Have never been such a fan of watching them.  But I will play anything.  Turns out some athleticism came pretty naturally for me, and at least according to some, I am pretty coachable as well.  So combine some natural talent, with a deep love of playing, and propensity towards being coached well and you have a recipe for success.  In addition, sports are measurable.  If you are any good, your stats prove it.  There is very little subjective measurement in the arena of athletics.  You either won or you lost.  You scored or you didn't.  You played or you rode the bench.  In life, I like knowing where I stand.  Sports have always just worked for me.

Art, however, or any engagement of creativity, is an entirely different story.  What is art?  Who decides?  How is success measured?  And when it comes to expressing your own creativity, does it really even matter what other people think?

I took some art classes in High School.  I was far from the most talented student in class.  Athletics set me up to anticipate success immediately and, unfortunately, and historically, if I am not immediately good at something new I give it up.  I tried playing guitar.  Once.  I was a good sprinter and one day my coach had me practice hurdles.  Once.  It's not my best quality, but it is true.  I want to be good.  And I want it to happen fast.

That's what surprised me so much when I began taking art classes.  I wasn't the best.  And I didn't care!  I enjoyed the creative process so much that I was able to look beyond the comparisons.  But art class was fifteen years ago and since then I haven't made much time for it.  I guess you could say I've been kind of busy!  What I have made time for consistently over the years is playing sports.  I am really thankful for this and each week I have the opportunity to play soccer and basketball (at times softball).  Continuing athletics is critical to maintaining my sanity.  Staying physically active and competitive is such a vital part of who I am that I can't be separated from it.  I have always known this.

What I didn't know was that nurturing the creative side is also important.  It's not as big of a piece of who I am, but it is there (I am guessing that it is in everyone, to an extent).  While I have enjoyed painting and ceramics in the past, and look forward to doing them again someday, that is not where I am currently finding creative satisfaction.  I have found it in writing.  This shouldn't surprise me, but it does.   I don't know if this will be a new staple in my life, or if it's just a season.  Frequent or not, I can now see that it is something that has always been there, and likely will always be.

So the trick now is to look at writing like I looked at those High School art classes.  I need to put aside the fretting and just enjoy the creative process.  And if that doesn't work, I can always take out my frustrations on the basketball court.

One Step At A Time

I love the idea that Scripture is active and living.  That a story I have read 100xs can suddenly take on a new and significant meaning.  What used to be just another inspirational verse is now chock full of wisdom and deep personal application.

If I had to pick one story that has resonated with me in a new and powerful way, it would be the story of Abraham.  In short, God told him to pack up and go.  Take his family, all of his possessions, and head out.  Abraham is willing but he wants to know the plan (don't we all?).  God basically says "I'll tell you when you get there."  Amazingly, Abraham complies and trusts God.  He heads out.  No map. No itinerary.  Just his family (think more like tribe), their stuff, and a whole lotta desert up ahead.

Seven years ago Ray and I knew it was time for a move.  Asa was newborn and I had recently graduated college.  Ray began sending out resumes (only to beach towns- good thinking', babe!).  He took a job in Sarasota, FL and we were really excited to be moving on.  It seemed like a simple act of obedience, even though we were moving far away from everyone we knew to a new city where we knew no one.  There was more excitement than fear or worry.

I have to wonder how different our response would have been had the whole picture been revealed to us.  All we knew was that we had a kid, a new job in a sweet beach town, and we were packing up.  But what if God had said up front, "I want you to move far away from everyone you know with your newborn son.  You will not make friends quickly or easily.  Next year you will become pregnant again and welcome a daughter to the family.  She will be six weeks old when Jody heads back to work.  A year after that you will buy your first home and renovate it.  You will think this is your forever home but it is not.  The following year you will become foster parents and welcome three, then ultimately six, sweet babies into your family (and by babies I mean teenagers and toddlers).  You will move four times in less than two years.  You'll sell your old home, buy a new one, and renovate it (for two months you will have no kitchen).  Don't worry though, it's gonna be great!!"

Somehow I doubt we would have been so excited about our move to FL.  We may have considered telling God no.  And even if we had said yes, I would have fretted over every minor decision I made from that point on, wondering if it was the right one that would get us to our God-ordained destiny.

Knowing too much too soon can be detrimental to our faithfulness.  And God knows this.  I am thankful for a recent conversation with a friend that reminded me of this truth.  There is power in simple obedience.  I don't need to hyper-plan my life.  Today is enough.

Oh, Mexico!

 This week I had the opportunity to travel to Tapachula, Mexico with my newest friend, Nancy...who just happens to be 75 years old.  We are an unlikely but very compatible traveling duo and I have had such a great week with her.

I didn't have any grand expectations of our trip to Mexico, but I do believe every day there are lessons we can learn if we are open to accepting them.  My main objective, I believe, was to invest in my relationship with Nancy.  She is an unexpected blessing not only in my life, but in the lives of my kiddos.  She has unabashedly taken on the role of grandmother to my kids and I am absolutely loving it.  My mother in law said Nancy "is made to be a grandmother" and I couldn't agree more!

Nancy's story is like most, with layers upon layers just waiting to be uncovered.  I am so pleased that the Lord decided to write her story into ours, and ours into hers. I cannot wait to see how it all ends up.  In the meantime, we went to Mexico:)

As I said, I had no expectations. Aside from being a friend and travel companion, I did not expect any major life lessons.  But as I sit in my hotel room (mariachi in the background) on the second to last night, I believe I am learning a very valuable lesson.

When I left home, I left a very sick household.  Husband, the kids, even the in-laws.  All sick.  The timing was terrible and it was not easy to go.  I still wonder if I made the right decision in leaving.  However, because I was far away and completely helpless, I have had the opportunity to pray often for my family, the only help I could provide.  Praying for them is also something I don't do nearly enough.

Alex is Nancy's grandson, who we are in Mexico to visit.  He is working at an orphanage in Tapachula this year.  It has been great to talk with him this week and get a fresh perspective from a twenty something with no family of his own yet.  It is easy to be enthusiastic about what he is doing right now, and a bit envious.  He just graduated college and is spending a year in Mexico.  After that he is on to Ireland then who knows where else.  He has big plans, and a life full of possibilities and promise.  It would be easy to romanticize a life of travel and independence.

But what I realized this week is I have a life of possibilities and promise too, and I have to look no further than my own living room to find it.  My adventure looks much differently than Alex's, but it is no less exciting.  It is no less fulfilling, mysterious, or wonderful.  My adventure includes unearthing the girl my husband fell in love with many years ago.  It includes kissing my kids' boo boo knees, helping them navigate the world of dating, and making play forts out of sheets.  It includes so much more.

As a mom I realize I have the capacity to set the tone for my entire household.  I can see each day as a new adventure with a story that will be retold time and time again, or I can see it as drudgery (another lunch to pack, another book report due, another shopping list).

I want to choose the adventure.  I want all the little monotonous things to add up to a life that is full of love and laughter, a story worth being told.  So adios, Tapachula.  I am heading home.  Adventure awaits me there:)