Last week was apparently the first day of school for many. How do I know this? Not because I still have small people at home... nope... I took a walk through my neighborhood one morning and there they all stood... small people with their big people... waiting... on at least every 3rd block or so. Then in the afternoon, Jon and I took a ride on the "mo-bike"... at first we thought, "wow, we must look like quite a spectacle for all these people to be sitting out on their porches waiting for us to drive by." [grin] Waiting for the exciting return home, moms were perched on porches and curbs and sitting in their cars in strategic spots... and then we got behind a bus dropping kids off with moms greeting them at the door with the "how'd it go?" I remember well.
This got me musing... what if today was my first day of school? Now, in my own mind, this is not a pretty picture. School "day ones" for me were frought with anxiety.
During my walk last week, I saw this one precious teenager. She was waiting for the bus... probably last year of middle school or first year of high school. Gorgeous young lady standing there in her jeans and fashion tees. Perfect hair and makeup. Just standing, relaxed, confident. Not a pen, pencil, notebook, backpack in sight. If I had it to do all over again... I would want to be like that. First day of high school... no biggie. But can I just say... that wasn't me... EVER.
No. Picture "Harry Potter's" Hermione on a severe caffeine and sugar high. That was me. I was the girl with a minimum of four pens (2 black, 2 blue) and 2 #2 pencils + 1 mechanical pencil, a highlighter, a bottle of "white out", a 3-ring notebook divided into 7-8 subject sections with extra loose-leaf paper, a journal, a pack of 3x5 cards, an extra book to read (in case there was "social time"), and my class schedule attached in plain view on the front of the notebook with a copy of the class schedule hidden away in my jeans pocket (right next to the locker combination) in case I lost the first one. My inner motto was "don't stand out, don't embarrass yourself, and don't fail." I was plain. In my own way, camouflaged. I didn't know how to dress cool or act cool. I just knew how to study. So, yes, I was the girl that came home with every book assigned in every class in my hands on the first day of school.
As for the "day one" experience... straight to my first class with my map of the school in hand, pre-marked and color-coded with the fastest routes to each classroom and alternate routes in case the first was too hard to navigate. In every class I took copious notes and made sure the syllabus was safely put away so I would never forget an assignment or a rule. All this came from too many times in elementary school when I forgot the rules or made mistakes and drew attention to myself. If at all possible, I hid at lunch and stayed away from any table that looked "fun" because fun could lead to embarrassment. If I made friends, it was because some wonderful parent taught their child to be kind. Some kind soul inevitably took pity on me and reached out.
So for me, in context, another first day of school is a nightmare.
But let's pretend I'm an enlightened adult... I know it's a leap... okay, so let's say I'm a Spirit-filled, saved by grace adult. Not such a leap. And today is the first day of school... I wonder would a fearless first day look any different? Would I be the girl that didn't see the need for a pencil? Would I throw caution to the wind and forget the copious notes? Would I smile more, look people in the eye more? Would I worry more about relationships and less about A's? Would I still be hyper-punctual or would I slide in at the bell? Would I learn just for the test or would I really learn? Would I seek out the fun table? Would I be the kind soul? Would I stuff my books in the locker at the end of the day and only do what was assigned? Would I be my normal uber-studious self or would I skip class now and then?
I think I know how I would be... because lately every day with God has felt like the first day of school. I'm in Gospel University. I'm taking a few remedial classes. Several subjects are just way over my head. I'm taking some level 4's. The syllabus is a sparse one. It simply says: Be conformed to the image of His Son. Pop quizes and labs abound every day. The dust from Jesus' feet flies up in front of me... sometimes I can barely keep up. Sometimes I just sit at His feet and learn. Sometimes we just walk from class to class together. I'm not learning for the sake of the test anymore... I'm learning for the joy of His company and to glorify His name. It's a stringent pass or fail system... with the exception of endless do-overs. His table is sometimes the fun table, and sometimes set in difficult places, but there's no one I'd rather lunch with. I'm never without pen and paper, always prepared to take copious notes... never without my journal because I don't want to forget one word, one truth, one glance from Him. I'm still not a social butterfly, but those He knows are becoming my friends too. And He doesn't seem to know a stranger. He's showing me how to engage people, to share with others, to be kind, to love. He's encouraging me to live boldly, to learn fearlessly, to teach freely, to fail honestly, to recover gracefully, to preach truthfully.
You know, I had some great teachers back then... but this... this is wholly (and holy) other. And I'm loving my schedule, and my subject, and my Teacher. And I'm looking forward to tomorrow - my first day of school.
Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
No More Empty Nest...
Today I saw a little boy sitting with his mom having lunch. His mom was easily delighted with his non-stop chatter about their day. He was waiting as patiently as a 5-year old can wait while mom finished her salad. Apparently salad takes longer than nuggets. What intrigued me was this mom's steady reveling in the moment, nodding and "yesing" and smiling and laughing. I'm sure she had somewhere else to be, something else to do... but it would wait. Her nest is considered full and she is loving it.
It made me think about my "empty" nest. Everyone says it's empty when the kids leave. To some degree, it has felt that way for me and my husband. But today... because I was eyewitness to a memory in the making, I've decided that empty nests aren't really empty. Many reasons come to mind, but I have three on my heart.
First, inside of me are 20+years of days that are filled with the faces of my family. I thanked God today for the ability to remember. Tapes of my 3 five-year-olds started to replay. Shanna and I making playdough cookies, reading together, eating McDonald's french fries... listening to her talk about "the yellow birds" at school, the bus ride, the I-can-do-it-myself's... Jonathon and I helping Mario rescue the princess from Bowser, jumping on the trampoline, talking about Mrs. Cathey's eyelashes and how his favorite subject at school was recess... Lucas charging me to walk the plank but watch out for sharks, promoting me to "mate" to his captain on the front porch ship... talking to and feeding "Bryan", watching movies together, and going for a snow-ice after school.
Tapes of driving them back and forth to school so that I could hear the laughter and excitement, the anger and frustration, getting a pulse on their friendships and their homework schedules. Dropping them off in my pajamas... yup... honking jingle bells with the horn and turning up Pavoratti on the stereo with the roof back on the car... starting 30 seconds before I stopped the car in the morning with a loud blessing ["The Lord bless you and keep you; The Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you; The Lord turn His face toward you and give you peace.] - watching the eyes roll as they exited the vehicle as quickly as possible. Kneeling at their bedsides after they fell asleep and praying over them... sitting outside their bedroom doors and weeping over them as I prayed for them in their teens. Basketball and hockey, prom dresses and dates, suits and dates, watching courtships, healing break-ups, fighting rebellions, celebrating successes, applauding great friendships, overhearing my mistakes and rehearsing my apologies. Making room on my full-size bed for 3 lanky teenagers to one-by-one come in and just hang out and talk and laugh. Rooms full of sharp-minded debaters with strong opinions and well-constructed arguments... conversions, spiritual growth spurts and spiritual growing pains, God-moments... lots of God-moments.
My nest isn't empty because my children's lives have so fully touched mine - they never really leave.
Secondly, Jon is still here. Can I get a hearty "PRAISE GOD!!" Had the enemy had his way, he would have stolen our hope, killed our commitment, and destroyed our marriage. But God... I think those are two of my favorite words in Scripture. But God stepped in and started tearing down and building... and He's never stopped tearing down and building. Jon is the only person with skin on that has the same context of family rituals, vacations, memories, dreams, struggles, relationships, churches. We've walked together, taught together, learned together, raised kids together, hiked together, fought together, travelled together, prayed together, worshipped together, loved together, built this nest together.
My nest isn't empty because I share it with my best friend.
And finally, I'm never alone. I sat at lunch today (seemingly by myself), but like the little 5-year-old, incessantly chatting about the state of my day and the state of my heart. Father sat with easy delight, listening to me, "yesing" me, and loving me. For a few moments, I switched places with my children. Lord, thank you for blessing and keeping us. Thank you for making Your face to shine upon us and for being so incredibly gracious to us. Thank you for turning Your face toward us. Thank you for Your peace. I thanked Him for filling my nest with His presence, and then I once again committed my "nest" back to Him for His use and for His glory. Frankly, I've been a steward of the nest... so really it's not up to me whether it is full or empty. It is full because God doesn't really do empty. In His presence is fullness of joy... for of His fullness we have all received and grace upon grace... His right hand is full of righteousness...He is full of grace and truth... He is full of compassion... He is full of glory... and out of His fullness, He fills us with His presence, with joy, with wisdom, with knowledge, with faith, with power, with assurance, with grace, with love... His fullness is the fullest and we are abundantly filled. No empty nest here...
My nest isn't empty because He has filled it with Himself.
Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy
It made me think about my "empty" nest. Everyone says it's empty when the kids leave. To some degree, it has felt that way for me and my husband. But today... because I was eyewitness to a memory in the making, I've decided that empty nests aren't really empty. Many reasons come to mind, but I have three on my heart.
First, inside of me are 20+years of days that are filled with the faces of my family. I thanked God today for the ability to remember. Tapes of my 3 five-year-olds started to replay. Shanna and I making playdough cookies, reading together, eating McDonald's french fries... listening to her talk about "the yellow birds" at school, the bus ride, the I-can-do-it-myself's... Jonathon and I helping Mario rescue the princess from Bowser, jumping on the trampoline, talking about Mrs. Cathey's eyelashes and how his favorite subject at school was recess... Lucas charging me to walk the plank but watch out for sharks, promoting me to "mate" to his captain on the front porch ship... talking to and feeding "Bryan", watching movies together, and going for a snow-ice after school.
Tapes of driving them back and forth to school so that I could hear the laughter and excitement, the anger and frustration, getting a pulse on their friendships and their homework schedules. Dropping them off in my pajamas... yup... honking jingle bells with the horn and turning up Pavoratti on the stereo with the roof back on the car... starting 30 seconds before I stopped the car in the morning with a loud blessing ["The Lord bless you and keep you; The Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you; The Lord turn His face toward you and give you peace.] - watching the eyes roll as they exited the vehicle as quickly as possible. Kneeling at their bedsides after they fell asleep and praying over them... sitting outside their bedroom doors and weeping over them as I prayed for them in their teens. Basketball and hockey, prom dresses and dates, suits and dates, watching courtships, healing break-ups, fighting rebellions, celebrating successes, applauding great friendships, overhearing my mistakes and rehearsing my apologies. Making room on my full-size bed for 3 lanky teenagers to one-by-one come in and just hang out and talk and laugh. Rooms full of sharp-minded debaters with strong opinions and well-constructed arguments... conversions, spiritual growth spurts and spiritual growing pains, God-moments... lots of God-moments.
My nest isn't empty because my children's lives have so fully touched mine - they never really leave.
Secondly, Jon is still here. Can I get a hearty "PRAISE GOD!!" Had the enemy had his way, he would have stolen our hope, killed our commitment, and destroyed our marriage. But God... I think those are two of my favorite words in Scripture. But God stepped in and started tearing down and building... and He's never stopped tearing down and building. Jon is the only person with skin on that has the same context of family rituals, vacations, memories, dreams, struggles, relationships, churches. We've walked together, taught together, learned together, raised kids together, hiked together, fought together, travelled together, prayed together, worshipped together, loved together, built this nest together.
My nest isn't empty because I share it with my best friend.
And finally, I'm never alone. I sat at lunch today (seemingly by myself), but like the little 5-year-old, incessantly chatting about the state of my day and the state of my heart. Father sat with easy delight, listening to me, "yesing" me, and loving me. For a few moments, I switched places with my children. Lord, thank you for blessing and keeping us. Thank you for making Your face to shine upon us and for being so incredibly gracious to us. Thank you for turning Your face toward us. Thank you for Your peace. I thanked Him for filling my nest with His presence, and then I once again committed my "nest" back to Him for His use and for His glory. Frankly, I've been a steward of the nest... so really it's not up to me whether it is full or empty. It is full because God doesn't really do empty. In His presence is fullness of joy... for of His fullness we have all received and grace upon grace... His right hand is full of righteousness...He is full of grace and truth... He is full of compassion... He is full of glory... and out of His fullness, He fills us with His presence, with joy, with wisdom, with knowledge, with faith, with power, with assurance, with grace, with love... His fullness is the fullest and we are abundantly filled. No empty nest here...
My nest isn't empty because He has filled it with Himself.
Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy
Thursday, August 11, 2011
A Burning Day
There’s a scene in one of the J. K. Rowling's "Harry Potter" books where Harry is alone in Professor Dumbledore’s office. He meets Fawkes, a Phoenix, for the first time. While he is admiring him, Fawkes bursts into flame and becomes an ash heap. Harry freaks a bit, and Dumbledore comes in. Dumbledore tells Harry that Phoenix’s go through seasons… they burst into flames and then they are reborn from the ashes. He says to Harry, “Pity you had to see him on a burning day.”
A burning day. I've been thinking Christian's are Phoenix-like. The first "burning day" is our salvation. By God's magnificent grace we are moved to the place of faith. In a moment, we die and are regenerated, a new creation from the ashes of sin and death. Witnesses of such a transformation are dumbfounded. Some appalled. But we rise. And we begin again.
But I think I continually experience "burning days". And I often want to say to those around me - "Pity you had to see me on a burning day." I don't appear to be at my best. So, for the most part... I withhold my burning experiences. I dodge witnesses. This has been my recent modus operandi. I actually set apart today as a "burning day." In my mind, it's a needful, yet painful thing. The meter on my heart and head registers full. There's no space left for another emotion, another "to do", another should, must, want, or would. It's almost paradoxical for it's not the right kind of fullness. It's a fullness that is empty. Just stuff. A hodgepodge of pent up emotions unprocessed, of to-do lists left undone, of duty piled upon grief. It requires a good emptying. Or a burning.
Romans 12:1 says, "I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship." Recently I've had my attention drawn to the command to keep the Sabbath holy. My pastor has earnestly taught on what he has termed "Gospel Rest" - sabbathing.
I think my Sabbaths are burning days. For me, a burning day is Gospel rest. It is my spiritual act of worship. It's a burning sacrifice followed by a resurrection. It means throwing my hands up in repentance and surrender, wetting the wood of the cross with my tears, falling on the altar of God's grace, and trusting as God burns up my "flesh" in the truth of the Gospel... the truth that says "Come to Me... and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you - not the world's yoke, not your own, but Mine - and learn from Me." It's the truth that bears a cross and births a disciple; the truth that His grace is sufficient; the truth that Jesus is My highest joy and my deepest satisfaction; the truth that there is no rest for My soul apart from Him and that apart from Him I can do absolutely nothing of eternal significance.
Like Fawkes on his burning day, rising from the ashes follows. In wonder I will be able to get to my feet... smaller... more clumsy... more fragile... and more dependent. But I will be at rest in Him, having "calmed and quieted my soul" (Psalm 131:2a) in the certainty of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and growing toward the next burning day.
Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy
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