The Month of Hearts

For our family, February brings multiple birthdays, several milestone anniversaries (including Neil’s death in 2015), and of course, Valentine’s Day. But lots of people don’t relish that heart-filled holiday. If you’re grieving someone you love, you probably want to dress in midnight black instead of red. If you aren’t in a romantic relationship, you may want to stay under the covers and ignore the day.

The modern interpretation of Valentine’s Day love is romantic, but it doesn’t have to be. There are multiple kinds of love. Yes, eros, romantic love, is one of them. Neil and I had some awesome February 14ths over the years.

But there is also storge, the familial love between parent and child or siblings. When the girls were home, we always had flowers and valentine’s candy for the whole family.  

Philos is the loving affection between close friends. My best friend usually sends me an e-card to remind me she cares.

Agape is unconditional, selfless love – the kind of love God has for us and that we are called to practice in the world. And I really do mean “practice” because we will never be able to love as totally, completely, and perfectly as God does.

So, what if this year, on Valentine’s Day, we practice agape and use our generous spirits to help someone else?

  1. Think of one person who needs extra loving kindness.
  2. Decide something concrete to improve their day.  It can be as simple as praying with them or as extensive as offering them a meal or a few hours of your time.
  3. It can be anonymous but not secret – they need to know someone thought of them even if they don’t know who the someone is.

What do you think? Up for the challenge? Take a moment today and come up with your plan; you’ll get as much out of it as they do. And I’d love to hear how it goes!

What’s My Superpower?

My family loves Disney, and our latest fascination/obsession is with the movie Encanto. A miraculous house grants powers to the family members who live there. For some reason, the heroine, Mirabel, isn’t given a gift or power when she comes of age, and the story tells of her search to find meaning in life as just an “ordinary” person.

Her sisters feel a different kind of pressure as they seek to live up to the gifts they’ve been given.

Isabela sings, “What could I do if I knew it didn’t need to be perfect?” in “What Else Can I Do?”

Louisa sings, “I’m pretty sure I’m worthless if I can’t be of service,” in “Surface Pressure.”

Don’t we all feel this way? Finding out who we are is a task for the young, but it is also something we face as we age and our circumstances change. If I retire, and I’m not a doctor anymore, who am I? Now that my daughters have all begun their own beautiful lives and I am not called upon to mother them every day, who am I? And doesn’t the world call us worthless if we can’t somehow be useful to society? Ouch.

As I shared this sense of shifting identity with one of my daughters, she said, “But you didn’t mention your Christian identity.” And she was right.

My identity in Christ isn’t based on what I can do or how perfect I am. It’s based solely on God’s love for me. He doesn’t care that I’m not perfect or strong or even useful. He knows me better than anyone else and loves me anyway.

So, my friends, if you are struggling to claim your identity, or find your gift, or identify your power, remember this:

Your identity is God’s beloved child.

Your gift is his unfailing and unconditional love, and your power is his love within you.

Though the mountains fall away and the hills be shaken,

My love shall never fall away from you

nor my covenant of peace be shaken,

says the Lord (Isaiah 54:10).

I’d love to hear your comments below, and if you know someone who could use this encouragement, please share.

A Common Language

The medical team hiked up the mountain, then cautiously across the narrow ridge. Donkeys carried our supplies, stepping tentatively in the worn path that extended as far as I could see. The sea sparkled in the distance without any hint of the pollution and trash that cluttered it.

The drab brown grey of the barren slopes gradually gave way to scraggly vegetation and tiny houses with drapes for front doors. The scrawny dogs and goats watched us trek by, and an occasional brave Haitian peeked out from the open-air windows.

Eventually a small village came into view in the distance at the crest of the trail. The vegetation increased: lush greens, tropical flowers, bananas, sugar cane, even a few small grapefruit trees. The people increased, too: a few working in their tiny gardens or washing clothes on rocks in puddles. It felt like we had traveled back in time. No running water, no bathrooms, no electricity. When we finally hiked into the center of the village, the sun was sinking in the sky. This was the village of Bon Se Jou.

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On the Love of a Puppy

Last summer I babysat my best friend’s ten-week-old German Shepherd.  I had forgotten how hard it is to take care of a puppy, and if you have too, let me remind you.

He was not yet housebroken, so I was careful not to trip in any wayward puddles. At any sign of an impending squat I quickly snatched him up and raced outside to the grass.  His sharp little puppy teeth innocently found their way to every single drawer knob and rocker bottom in my house, despite my attempts to guide them to things less dangerous to chew. He raced like a victorious bull through the screen door that eventually fell in surrender around him. He shredded not only the newspaper that was supposed to help him learn housetraining, but every single toy that his owner sent with him. My floors looked like cotton fields with all the white fluff scattered across them.

And yet, he was so darn cute. My voice was strong in the moments when I scolded him, “No!” but he was quickly forgiven as he breathed puppy breath into my face and licked me with his happy tongue. He chewed my flip flop then looked at me with soulful apologetic eyes that melted my heart. Who cares about flip flops? I thought to myself. His clumsy paws got tangled in my feet, and before I could even reprimand him, I laughed as we ended up on the floor. And when he finally fell asleep and snuggled at the foot of the bed, I smiled at the sound of gentle snoring and little legs prancing in happy puppy dreams.  I fell in love with this dog – and he wasn’t even mine. Imagine how I’d feel if I was the one who chose him out of the litter to call my own.

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See Others as God Does: A Lesson from My Cat

IMG_2227Sometimes we are reminded good lessons in the strangest ways. Recently, one of my cats taught me one I need to remember.

Tiger is about 13 years old, having been a birthday present for Jordan on her sixth birthday. Neil did not want another cat back then (we had two other cats and two dogs at the time!) but I was determined to make my little girl’s birthday dream come true. Despite my husband’s strong suggestion for some other present, I sat at the SPCA for the better part of a morning, looking into little eyes, watching the kittens interact with each other and throwing paper towel wads for them to chase before I finally decided Tiger was the one. As a kitten he was beautiful: perfectly proportioned, soft velvety fur, big green eyes and a personality that was cuddly and playful.

Fast forward 13 years later. As a grown cat, Tiger seems distrustful and guarded. He hates poor Buddy the dog, who would love nothing more than to be playmates. He tolerates Kitty Girl, our other cat, mostly by pretending she doesn’t exist. I have often imagined him complaining to himself about the idiotic pets with whom he is forced to reside, and the obnoxious humans who are not much better. Continue reading →