“TOO TARY” (TOO SCARY)

I recently heard a talk where one of the illustrations was for us to view ourselves with a large sign over our heads. We were to imagine something on it that positively stated who we are. I thought about what my sign might say. The speaker essentially was saying that we become what we believe about ourselves. Last month I went to asummer evening gathering of women and again was told to look in the mirror everyday and to tell myself, “you are loved and you can do whatever is before you today.” Have you thought about how you see yourself? While talking to a friend about these thoughts, she mentioned that she sees herself with extra weight, more wrinkles and grayer hair. As she continued, I said “Are you kidding? What I see is your smile, your laugh and your light. I see you through the eyes of love.”

How can we all write on our signs those kind of things about ourselves that would reflect how God sees us and how we see ourselves through the eyes of love? I think my sign would be a mixture of who I believe myself to be and and how I want to view myself, something like,”I am loved and unsure and joyous and scared and blessed” All of it crammed into one sign.

In addition to working on my next book, this summer we are pretty much at home and we are teaching swimming lessons to preschool and elementary children at home with Max and Zach, covered with bugspray and sunscreen, saying over and over again, “you can do it, put your face in the water, reach and pull with your arms!” Most are beginning swimmers, with signs saying “I’m afraid.” One little precious boy, during his first time ever in swimming lessons, when asked to put his face in the water, said “That too tary!”(scary) During his last lesson after he put his face in, he laughed. What a journey from beginning 8 days ago, at 11 AM his sign said, ” that too tary,” and today, “I can do it!” What I know made the difference is Ron’s arms under him, holding him and telling him repeatedly, “I’ve got you and I’m not gonna let go of you.” Doesn’t matter what I allow on my sign, I do feel loving arms around me.

While at the grocery store in the produce I knocked over a box of cookies in a plastic container. Cookies went everywhere. As my son Zach and I began to pick them up — one of the deli workers just appeared and said, “I’ll take these ma’am.” “Oh no,” I quickly replied, “I’ll pick them up and please let me pay for them.” My sign said, “I’m embarrassed and I want to leave.” Apparently not. as she smiled. and said, “Don’t worry about it.” As we headed toward the bread aisle. I looked at Zach and said, “I don’t know why stuff like that bothers me, I just feel so embarrassed, I was moving too fast’.” Zach interrupted, “mommy, mommy, it’s okay it happens.” He took my hand and something changed, really changed. I was lifted. The problem was not gone, there were cookies everywhere. But there was another reality, of it’s ok — more importantly — I’m ok. I am ok and all that is in front of me that seems too tary is not too tary. I am known, I am loved and most importantly I am not alone.

Before I take my first step of the day, I started sitting up on the side of the bed in the morning. I put my feet on the floor in front of me and I say to myself “I’m living, I’m loveable, I am loved and I am not alone.” I also spell the ABCs with my feet. (When I ran I got fasciitis in my right foot and that was my runners’ re-hab.) I say to God help me let go of today, I give it to you.

Say it with me… “Today, I’m living, I’m loveable, I am loved and I amnot alone” There is nothing too tary, that today I cannot face!

Have a cookie today, I am gonna let go of today and see what happens

Celia

Scripture, Romans 8:28 — We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.

P.S. Congrats to Tanner 5 1/2 who passed the swimming test that consisted of swimming a lap in the Olympic sized pool and treading water for 30 seconds, so that she could go down the big blue slide at the YMCA all summer long! Way to go!

To Rachel 18, in NY who graduated this June, Congrats! My text message to her on her last day of high school was “The best thing you could have learned is how loved you are, how special you are and how all things are possible.”

You both did it and we knew you could!

apple trees

Consider the lillies… (or the Apple trees for that matter) — Matt 6:28b

So I’ve go these apple trees in my front yard–four of them. They are too small to climb and they have only produced apples one of the seven years we have lived here. That was the year my dad stayed with us. He was 79 and my mom had just died. He visited us for three months and one day he said, “we need to work on your apple trees.” I do not have a green thumb was my first thought. I love to grow things, but things don’t love to grow for me. My dad always had a garden. He planted strawberries one year, always tomatoes, a pear tree one year and then there were his flowers. One place we lived had a two acre lot and he planted 50 different types of roses. My favorite were the kind that had a sweet fragrance. He said his favorite was Queen Elizabeth. I took flowers to school every week. If I was ever the teacher’s pet, it was because of my dad’s flowers. I also loved his pansies. They were dark purple with yellow accents.

My apple trees were not in the same category as his plants. Mine had spots and not just a few little spots–spots on almost every leaf. The trees were unruly and he said they needed to be pruned every year. They just needed a little care. I’m not big on pruning. I get my hair cut every 4 months whether it needs it or not. I’m not big on upkeep–I need plants that thrive on neglect. If they make it, they can stay. That philosophy didn’t go over too well with my dad, so we pruned. We watered and we went to the local hardware store to buy something to put on the leaves for the spots. It was maybe a fungus, a virus or some type of bug. Who cares what it is. I was sure we could not get rid of it, but he was determined to leave those apple trees in better shape than he found them and he gave it his best try. I laughed at the store. When we got to the pesticides isle, they all had warnings on them. I thought these might not be safe. Then I thought he’s almost 80, what harm can they do. So off we went with our bag of, let’s just say some form of poison. Dad used my cooking funnel and a mixing bowl to mix the ingredients. I threw that funnel and bowl in the trash that night. No need to try to salvage those. We hauled off 6 large black trash bags of pruned limbs. We sprayed and then we waited. Slowly over months, small sprouts began to appear. The day my dad had his final heart attack that left him bedridden for 6 weeks before his death, he was working on my apple trees. He loved the outdoors and loved to have his hands in nature. I love that he got to spend time at my home in that way.

After his death I came home from his memorial service to find those trees brimming with small apples. I kept the boys (aged 3 and 1 1/2) away from them most of the summer and remember Dad saying early September would be a great month to pick them if the birds haven’t gotten all of them. Those apples grew and grew despite me. One day Ron and I went out for the day in the middle of the summer and left the boys with a baby-sitter. When we came home, in their wagon were my dad’s apples. I was so shook. I’m not sure why those apples represented my dad’s time with me. More than our work together, they represented hope The possibility in life, even when things seem impossible, and somehow the possibility in me even me with my not-so-green thumb. It doesn’t make sense that I can grew something when something had not grown before. I sat on the front porch and cried as the boys proudly showed me their apples. I got my camera and began to laugh as they dumped them all on the ground too green to eat. Max said, “Mommy why are you crying?” Ron explained that the apples were not ready to pick. So the boys said simply, “we’ll put them back, someone get the tape.” It is funny how many things just can’t go back and sometimes it’s okay. Sometimes it’s better than okay.

September came and went and those apple trees have not born one apple since. It’s been 5 years and I’ve wondered should we just cut them down and replace them with something else. What good are they? I don’t have the energy to prune them, water them, love on them and they have not done a thing until… now. This week they have apples and a lot of apples, more than I have seen and on every tree, on every branch almost. I’m left wondering why. I so don’t deserve apples. I have not given those trees one thought much less any attention, but that ‘s when a story gets good isn’t it, when something happens that‘s unexpected, that’s not planned, that’s not deserved, that’s not explainable. My dad and I dreamed of what we’d do with those apples…apple pie, apple cider, apple sauce, apple butter. We would have so many he said we’d need to bag them and give them away to friends. Maybe we could eat them on the porch with boys. We would laugh and dream. I am thinking maybe this September we will do that. You never know if the birds don’t get them or the boys don’t use them during a battle while playing near the trees one day. You wait, you just might be having some apples come your way. So don’t worry about what you’re going to eat, or drink, or wear.

Apples, my apples. Who would have guessed, not me.

Matt. 6:25-31 “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you —you of little faith? Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’

Eight

When I was eight everything was possible. I thought I could run faster, and I could. I thought there would never be a time when I wouldn’t try things and that time has come. I believed that all people are good and I have had occasion to wonder and even question that fact. I played with friends and thought those close to me then would be close to me forever. I know where only a few of those folks are today and I smile even thinking of them now. We were innocent. We were young. We were carefree. We loved, laughed outloud. ate ice cream when we wanted. drank Icees when we wanted, slept in during In the summer we watched cartoons early Saturday mornings, went to the fair every year, flirted with boys because it was fun, made wishes, believed dreams came true, said our prayers and all before bathtime and lights out. We played together and didn’t care who lived on which side of the tracks. We held hands during recess and skipped. We still played dress up with our mom’s clothes and shoes and makeup when they weren’t looking and pretended we knew what it would be like to be grown up. I had no clue.

I loved us and all the lessons we taught each other. Riding on your best friends handle bars down a steep hill should be avoided at all costs. The feeling of drowning is no fun and that feeling that you’ll never breathe again is something you put our of your head. That feeling returns when you’re a teenager and someone breaks you heart–you remember how it feels to be drowning all over again. We shared, really because we liked to share. The joy of giving what I had to my best friend and seeing her face–money can’t buy that. It’s priceless, really. We jumped off of things and didn’t think at the the time we’d get hurt, until an ankle sprain. I learned how long it takes to heal. Later I learned it again and again–healing seems to takes forever. We can spend our whole lives healing from something, even if we’ve made peace with the hurt. Some prayers don’t get answered, but I believe all prayers are heard. Fear is overridden by desire and joy is found in the smallest places.

I caught every living thing in my back yard and I treasured the world around me. The trees were my playrooms and my bike could take me anywhere. With coins in my pocket I’d head downtown to the library and get lost in a book that would take me to places I couldn’t pronounce, much less dream up. Next I’d ride to the drugstore for fudge ripple ice cream on a sugar cone and buy a Richie Rich comic book. Then I’d ride down past the cemetary to the creek and swim–that’s crazy huh. I’d catch tadpoles and fireflies. Then I’d head back home and play tag with my neightbors until it was dark. Finally and only at the last hour, I would go back inside for a quick bite, most of which I would sneak to the dog under the table. Then it was bath time. I made shampoo supported mohawks. After a quick bedtime story made up by my dad, I was off to sleep. I was still afraid of the dark at eight.. after a kiss goodnight, I’d check under the bed for the creatures and in the closet. I’d pull the curtains closed, hold a stuffed animal tightly. and head under the covers. I was right to be scared of things. There are things to be scared of. Some nights I was frozen–no trapped by fear, not most nights, but enough to remember. I’d whisper a few words under my breath and I was off to sleep. Now that I think of it, those creatures never surfaced. They were in my head, not in my room. Isn’t that the way it is? We have to be careful what we let have it’s way with our thoughts. Most nights the good prevailed. I dreamed when I was eight. Seldom did I remember my dreams, but I loved to dream about playing with dolphins somewhere exotic. Dream land was very different from my surroundings. That is still true today, but I still believe that anything is possible.

It’s all how you look at it. An eight year old sees with eyes that are still open and there are days when I long for that view. Even if I could go back and whisper some of the things I’ve learned and realized along the journey to that girl, she might laugh until she cried or she’d cry until she laughed. She wouldn’t, couldn’t believe me. She’d have to see it with her own eyes. That’s just what I have lived. Here’s to eight. Really in a word, it was great. Don’t ever stop being eight. Don’t forget to buy a snowcone this summer, bubble gum’s my favorite flavor and it turns your tongue blue–who doesn’t like that!

Max turns eight today… May 16, 2008 eat some birthday cake… 2 slices!

Blur

Some days are a blur. I look back and think, “what in the world?” It’s gone–one minute, one hour, one afternoon, the whole day–gone; and what has been done? Everyone gets the same 24 hours. Michelangeo had the same 24 hours and look what he did with it–amazing! Bill Gates had the same 24 hours and look what he did. He changed the way the world thinks and works. Mother Teresa had the same 24 and she spent each in humility, serving others. And each of us have our days–what will be done? This past Sunday was Mother’s Day and I read a woman jumped off a bridge and was never found. She had her day and decided what to do with it. Each of us choose. Each of us are faced with where we’re going and where we’ve been, and most importantly where we are–here, now. For good or bad it was my day, it was all mine. I read the foot book with Zach, actually he read it to me and I thought to myself, “he’s doing it.” I smiled thinking that it was just a second ago we were bringing him home from the hospital, baths were had, meals cooked, dreams scribbled down on napkins, calls made, songs began, coffee drank with friends, laughs laughed, stories told, my 24 hours was all mine. Maybe like Michelandelo, Bill Gates and Mother Teresa, I’m not sure while I’m in the midst of it if I’m doing anything, that will make a difference. Maybe they thought the same. Some days I wonder. There are moments in our lives when we have hugh impacts and we know it–I feel it. I’m moved by it and the day seems larger than it is. Then there are days when I’m faithful–that’s the best word I can think of. I keep trying, keep creating, keep swimming even if it feels like I’m swimming upstream, I keep dreaming, keep believing in my 24 hours something is going to happen, something unexpected. I wish I had been on that bridge Sunday, to say, “just wait, tomorrow has so many possibilities. I’ve had bad days and I’ve felt the edge of life. Take my hand and know that something could happen in the next 24 hours. Something could happen through you that could never happen through me.”I believe that, something happens through each of us each day. Some days it feels so small and some days I get to see it. Others might never see, experience it or be moved by it; but it’s real and it happens, so here’s to tomorrow and the blur that it will become.

What’s next?

Springtime always reminds me of what is new and what is now… and what is about to be birthed that hasn’t been before. The subject of what’s next seems to come up frequently in my conversations with friends and acquaintances. What’s next with my life.. what’s next with my career… what’s next with the relationships I am in … What are the next risks that I need to be taking… This past weekend I joined a group of youth who are graduating from high school. One of the things I remember about my senior year was that it seemed like everytime I turned around someone was aksing me, “what school will you be attending? What will you be studying?” or “Who will you be rooming with?” On and on came the questions and to be honest with you, I decided many of those things at the very last minute. I know that does not shock many of you who know me. I did not have a clue many times. There were those days when so much was spinning around me that I felt like I was just along for the ride. I had no idea where those decisions would lead me or if when I got there I would be prepared for what lay before me.

Early in my singing I met a business man on a flight from Dallas. He shared some of his life story with me on our short trip. During an interview for his first job out of college, he was asked if he had any experience taking pictures out of an airplane. “Of course,” he replied enthusiastically, “that will be no problem for me.” He did get the job and as he left the interview, he thought to himself, “now how would one take a picture our of a plane?” The first day on his job he was shocked to hear the pilot jokingly say as they started the plane, “at some point we’ll remove this cover on the bottom of the plane. You need to be sure you tie yourself onto the rope provided on the side and ya best hold on; things can get a little bumpy. I’ve never had a photographer fall out while taking pictures and don’t want you to be the first.” “You know, Celia,” he said as he looked into my eyes, “I might not have known what was next in my life, but I was always up for the challenge. I might not have been here today if I hadn’t taken that first unknown step.”

Years ago I read a book about Georgia O’Keefe.. her life as a painter and sculptor. She painted very differently from those painting at the time. She said she loved to paint the desert because most people over look the beauty of the desert. She eventually moved to Sante Fe, New Mexico. One of my favorite paintings of hers is titled “Sky Above the Clouds.” On a trip to Santa Fe to sing, I snuck away to visit the Georgia O’Keefe Art Museum. Words do it that painting justice. Over the years, I have seen her work in museums across the country but this was breathtaking. One of the great surprises was seeing the original artwork of Sky Above the Clouds. I was expecting a small painting and when I walked into the room where it was on display I was struck by its majesty. The painting is the size of the room… huge and filled … bold and beautiful. Painters of the nineteenth century had always painted clouds as if they were looking up at them… she painted them as she saw them from a plane. Crazy. Yet, again in her style she knew her next would not look like her now. I have a poster of one of her works and the bottom quote reads, “ I wasn’t going to spend my life doing what had already been done.”

As I buckle in to write my second book, I feel that way today. I’m not sure all that is ahead of me. I’m not sure if I’m going to be prepared, but really that has never stopped me before and it shouldn’t stop me or you now.

What’s next for us? Really, I have a new glimpses… a few ideas… one thing I’m sure of … it will be new and fresh… if I can help it… I’m just gonna tie myself on and hold on with all my might and see where I end up…. I invite you to do the same…

Happy Flying Friends, Celia

“Houses of Hope” luncheon

From Habitat For Humanity, Nashville, Dickson, TN Division “Houses of Hope,” a very successful fundraising luncheon sponsored by TriStar Bank was held Thursday, April 10, at Greystone Golf Club in Dickson. More than 100 guests attended, and the event raised more than $20,000 for the agency to build more homes for purchase by hard-working, low-income families.

There are 3,000 families in Dickson with annual incomes between $15,000 and $25,000 who are not able to afford the fair market rent of $506 monthly. Today, more than 10 percent of the Dickson population and 13 percent of Dickson children live in poverty. Government funding for housing at all levels is on the decline. Only 65 percent of the need for subsidized housing is being met in Dickson, and more than 350 families are on the waiting list for Section 8 homes.
November Build
Our Fall build will take place November 8, 9, 15, 16, 22, and 23. The home will be built in 6 days and will be dedicated on November 23 at 2 p.m. This Dickson division Habitat home will be sponsored by:

Dickson Chapter GNAR
Cross Point Community Church, Dickson Campus
State Representative and Mrs. David Shepard
Community Pharmacy, Inc.
Chappell’s Cee Bee
TriStar Bank
Did You Know?
The average Habitat homeowner makes $21,000 a year and has 2-3 children.

Have Hope!

This past week Max and Zach went to a midweek program for children at church. Our children’s director told me afterward of her discussions with them. She told them the story of Jesus meeting the disciples on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13-35) and asked each child what they thought Jesus would say to each of them, today. Zach shared, “He’d say… he’d say, ‘I love you’” Then he smiled and asked her if that was the right answer. “He’d say, ‘I love you?’ That’s a great answer, Zach,” his teacher responded. Next Max told his answer, “Jesus would say, ‘Have hope.’” Max followed “have hope” with “have peace.”

Wow! Have hope. What an answer! I wish I had said that. What kind of life would you and I have if we lived everyday with those two gifts–hope and peace?

I am ever mindful of times in my life when I have felt surrounded by hope. It was like diving into the deep end of a swimming pool and everywhere I turned was water. There have been moments when I have felt engulfed in hope. A hope that is calming and soothing in nature. A hope that is not flashy, nor boastful, but is constant and steady, unwavering and assured of its place and its ultimate power.

Recently, a friend of mine gave me a piece of art. It is a statue and it stands in my kitchen beside a large yellow silk sunflower and a picture of an apple tree that Max and I drew for my dad when he lived with us. It is a carving of Smiling St. Anthony of Padua. He followed the steps of St. Francis as a wealthy child who traded his riches for a life of piety and poverty. He was famous for helping find lost stuff and for lost causes. I got so tickled at the thought of this appropriate saint. Then I read her card. It seemed right and just, because she said, “you don’t have lost cause in your vocabulary.” It was the perfect gift for me. I don’t mind hearing the word “no” because I know that my yes is right around the corner. I love betting on the long shot. I love it when the underdog wins. I love when people say, “well, I don’t think that can happen.”

When my father asked if he could come to my home from the hospital for his last days. I remember talking to the head cardiologist in the hallway. He looked straight into my eyes and said, “Young lady, I’m not sure you realize how difficult this task will be. You have two small children and a touring career and a very ill parent. I don’t believe you can do this.” I felt such a peace when I told him , “sir you don’t know me too well. Can’t is not in my vocabulary. I believe that I can and I will.” We were home by lunch and meeting with a wonderful team from Willowbrook Hospice to care for my father as he lived out his days the way he wanted to. I never once thought,” You know he’s right. I can’t do this. I’ll fail. I’ll make a mess of it.” Have I failed? Have I made a mess of things? There’s no question that I have, but I won’t have to say that I watched that particular ship sail by and did nothing.

I am ever hopeful that in jumping into the deep end, I will realize that I’m right where I need to be. In a simple way I do believe that I’ll have what I need in those moments. I believe that‘s what faith is and I do hear in my life Christ saying to me, “have hope.” My prayer is that you listen with me for those words.

all my love, Celia

Jackie Street — June 17, 1959 – Feb 17, 2008

jackiestreet2.jpgjackiestreet.jpgBefore I moved to Nashville, I met Jackie Street at the Cooker–a restaurant. Jackie had a couple of restaurants that were considered his offices and I met him at his office. He always had time to stop at your table and give you a hug. I never saw him in a hurry. His own troubles never were the topic of his conversation. I want to be more like Jackie Street. Jackie was an incredible bass play who played on lots of live shows and on albums. (I’m using the term album to mean a collection–Jackie probably played on 8 tracks, vinyl, cassettes and CDs). I will miss Jackie.

Comments about Jackie on NashvilleMusicPros.com

Jackie’s song credits on AllMusic.com. I’d be VERY surprised if you haven’t heard Jackie play bass on one of these songs.

If you saw SNL on Saturday 2/23/08, Carrie Underwood’s bass player Mark Childers had “IMO (in Memory of) Jackie Street” written on his bass in big letters. Jackie’s family was told before the broadcast about the tribute and it was a nice gesture. Mark played on “Live Christ” and the rest of the CD in my book.

Jackie, Rest In Peace

Real-Life Love

Valentines Cards paint love as simple and easy, but I’ve always thought that real-life love is messy.

Tonight I had a chance to be with my family. I thought about leaving tomorrow, gone for the weekend and idealized a loving family night together. What really happened was that we fussed and negotiated about the normal parent-child stuff and ended up apologizing before we headed outside to watch stars before a family skip-bo tournament. I had pulled out twister, boggle, hi-ho cherry-o and was ready for a fun evening. They’ll have to wait.

Oh well, that loving family evening didn’t turn out as I’d planned, but whatever does? As I’m writing this Zach is awake playing with an empty laundry bag. He’s walking around the kitchen. He’s supposed to be heading off to bed. I wanna be frustrated but it is really funny. He looks like a walking laundry bag.

On a visit to my home, a friend brought me a canvas that hangs in our kitchen. It says,

“In this home…
we do second chances,
we do grace, we do real,
we do mistakes,
we do I’m sorrys,
we do loud really well,
we do hugs,
we do family,
we do love.”

That sums up our family. It can be a mess, but it’s a lovely mess and it’s our mess.

This past week I was with a group of teenage students. I told them about the times that Zach used to say, “I love you one thousand.” Then he started saying, “ I love you 1,016,” then one day he said, “I love you like a chicken.” (I’m not really sure what that means. Maybe it means, I love you with all I can think of.) I have shared this phrase with tens of thousands of concert-listeners. This weekend I shared that story and asked the youth to greet each other. Tell someone you’re glad they came this weekend or maybe that you love them or maybe that you love them like a chicken. On the way to the bonfire, Emily said, “I don’t get the ‘I love you.’ I mean tell a stranger or someone you hardly know that you love them. Isn’t that a little awkward and forced.” Well I smiled, I said to Emily, “maybe I needed to say it as much as or more than someone else needed to hear it.” “I get it she said, we could all use a little more love in our lives right?” Even it it’s messy or unexpected or feels a little out of place or strange.

I thought of a conversation I had recently with a friend who I hadn’t heard from in some time. I had called her a few months back with a prayer request and didn’t heard back from her, immediately. Last week, we finally connected. Within minutes of our talk she apologized for not returning my call. First I laughed and said I am a moving target, so you probably wouldn’t have gotten me either and again she said, Celia, I love you and am so sorry I didn’t call you back. It had obviously bothered her more than it bothered me. All I could say was I love you and love isn’t like that. It doesn’t want to make someone else feel bad. It doesn’t want a friend to feel horrible (“aherrible”- as Zach used to say. He insisted adamantly that he had the word correct and you didn’t.) The only way to love is messy. Recently a new friend and I spent an evening together and at one point she said, I’m gonna let you down sometime. It thought , “but I might let you down first.”Isn’t that how life and love are.

Back home, as the lights are low and every one’s asleep but me and my Dog Lilly, I head to the kitchen for a glass of water. The sign in my kitchen catches my eye. I want to grab and sharpie marker and add to it, “we do messes” Love is messy. It’s heart breaking it’s frustrating, it’s complicated, it’s wonderful, it’s forgiving, it’s a million things and more. The only way for it not to be a mess is not to love.

My prayer for you and I is that we that we willl know how loved we are. Because to be honest, more than loves is a mess, I am a mess in spite of it. There is a God who knows all the stuff hidden under my bed and that same God loves me now more than I could ever imagine and loves you the same.

Watch some stars with someone you love this week. Tell someone you love them like a chicken.

Yours… Celia

Life that is truly Life

While decorating our home for the Christmas holidays, I realized I couldn’t find baby Jesus from one of our nativity sets.

He was there last year. After Christmas, I packed him up carefully knowing I’d want to know right where to find him when I set out my collection of nativity sets (does 4 make a collection? Max has collected 13 webkinz and Zach 11, now those are collections. Maybe I have a group.) Anyway, the last set was missing baby Jesus. For days I’d walk by the piano where they all were set up and every time I’d say, “ugh” where is baby Jesus?” And yes, I’ll admit I do find myself praying to the infant Jesus during this season (8 pound 6 ounce or otherwise.) As I continued decorating, I began the search through every box of ornaments, “now baby Jesus, OK, if you know me you know that I lose things, but this is it.” I mean really, Celia. Finally 8 hours later in the bottom of the last box upside down, beside a cotton ball angel, there he was. What a relief! I laughed about it and knew I wanted to share my mishap with you.

The more I thought about this devotion and about losing and finding Jesus, I recalled a sermon I heard recently. While attending Calvary Community Church in Westlake, California I got the chance to hear a guest preacher Pastor Bill Hybels, the founding pastor of Willow Creek Community Church. He preached about Jesus and the poor. When I tell you that I was moved, those words do fall short. I heard the sermon three times (once on Saturday night and twice on Sunday morning.) During the second service, I was wrecked. I began to cry and to feel God’s Spirit move over me. I could barely sit in my seat. I have sung at Calvary several times and always find it warm and inspiring, but this week was different. Friday evening, I spoke and sang at their women’s tea with 450 incredible women. Now that I think about it, I can’t think of a group I’ve spoken to that I wasn’t drawn to and afterwards felt like I’ve been with old friends. Our good friends on staff, Rex and Andrea asked us if we’d extend our visit through the weekend and I’m so glad we did. Bill’s sermon was about those times in journey as Christ-followers when we have had a “I just got my world rocked” moment.

Along my way in life, these are a few of my aha moments in life and faith.:

  • Discovering a heart for missions and service from a few youth workers who nurtured that in me.
  • Realizing at my first teaching appointment situated in an low income neighborhood that we must do more to be inclusive. Everyone is God’s child. We can all encourage and inspire.
  • During the deaths of several family members–my sister, my mother and fathers death. I became profoundly aware that we are not alone. God is in the midst of our suffering. Friends are family and the local church have opportunities daily to be Christ’s hands and feet.
  • Through sponsoring a child, if I only change one child’s life, that’s enough.
  • From college days traveling the world, when need each other and we have more in common that we think.
  • From recent news from around the world and driven home by the movie Hotel Rwanda I was reminded who my neighbor is. Moved to tears I remember feeling the same about the Holocaust museum in DC. We may be the only ones who can help and if we don’t, those in need will perish.
  • Having Max and Zach I discovered how few things are eternal.

Bill Hybels spoke of his own expereinces and passion for the poor. He asked us to reflect on a simple question. “When others speak your name, do they say of you, ‘she has a heart for the poor’?” I sat there and thought about what others would say. Obviously I have a heart for music, a heart for the church, I love others. I think I live for others, within reach, but what about those I’ll never reach or meet? What about those in need every day from gut wrenching hunger, lack of shelter, medicine, education, employment? I should be on my knees everyday saying, “Lord, thank you help me not turn a blind eye to those who need me the most.” Where would Jesus be if he were here today? My best guess is that he would be on the streets with those in need. Bill mentioned a phrase from scripture, “life, that is truly life.” He told of helping a woman in Africa to her hut with a bag of food and praying with her. In that moment he had a “rock your world” moment. Life that was truly life, was crystal clear.

As I write this, I am remembering a song writing appointment two weeks ago with two of my favorite song writers. One told of a woman in a friend’s neighborhood who was experiencing hard times. Her husband had left her with two small children and she was barely getting by. She was a young mom alone and a gentleman in his eighties who had always been kind to her, saw her struggle and came to her aid. He had been her neighbor for years and he knew her story. He walked with a coffee can door to door to his neighbors, pointed to her house and said, “see that house, that women in there is hurtin’, she needs some help. What can you do to help her?” Then he went to her home and piled up the money on the table and said, “I hope that helps.” Whew, that’s the good news. That’s the kind of love that doesn’t care how it looks. It is not always wrapped in pretty paper with a neat bow. It might look like a rusted old coffee can.

I know what this season brings. Many of us are busy, treading the waters of the commercialism of the holidays, squeezed (I just cannot bring myself to spend $80 on a sherbert bunny webkinz for Max’s collection), stressed over money or over time, or over our loved ones or sad (if we’ve lost someone) or maybe a strained relationship with someone we’re going to have to be with in a week. All the while I’m wondering what have we done with Jesus. I know this is what I need to be reminded of. To have a heart like Christ we must have a heart for what Christ had a heart for. That’s my prayer this year. “Baby Jesus be born in my heart once again. Wreck me today for what matters to you. Use me to bring your goodness here on earth, that we might find you and know life that is truly life.”

I love you all and thank God for you in my life. You are a blessing Merry Christmas!

Celia

P.S. I hope you get the easy bake oven and moon boots this year or whatever is on your list