July 2016

While Don heaps one spoonful of Folgers instant coffee in his morning cup, I had the unfortunate opportunity to learn I need two or three to make my cup worth while. Between calls to medical personnel, teaching, and now time in Reveal Audio Studios, I haven't remembered to stop at the grocery store yet this week.

But that will change soon. Sam and Courtney are coming for dinner and even spending the night. So a food stop is next.

I was hoping Nathan would join, but he's sitting beside me in the studio as I type so I won't complain... or rather, I won't complain too much.

I wrote three songs this summer and even sang them at Eddie's Attic, a local song writer's venue way across town. Snot filled my head and congestion covered my vocal cords, meaning I didn't sound great. But the poet needed to express and the experience proved therapeutic.

Listening to Nathan record background tracks for those songs today takes me far from the week of violence. For years ago, when I recorded my first two CD's  in this studio (available here on Amazon), Nathan was in middle school, unaware that his cords held a power beyond my own.

So while families fight, politicians haggle, and rioters destroy, we're building vocal tracks, harmonizing our genetically linked voices in a way only family can.

And while you may not be singing with those who mean a lot to you, I like to believe that in some small way, you're attempting some form of harmony too. Does that make me a Pollyanna? Like I'm just trying to create a world where the good outweighs the bad?

For even as bombs blow and murderers murder, I wonder if there's any chance the quiet good actually outweighs the catastrophic bad.

Deep in the book of Romans Paul commanded, "Do not offer the parts of your body to sin, as instruments of wickedness, but rather offer yourselves to God, as those who have been brought from death to life; and offer the parts of your body to him as instruments of righteousness. For sin shall not be your master, because you are not under law, but under grace" (Romans 6: 13 -14 NIV).

Even on the worst of days I wonder if there's any chance there are more instruments of righteousness than wickedness?  It sure doesn't seem like it most of the time. But for every act of evil, messengers of hope arise, providing aid in a multitude of ways.

So when July came to a close and the violence seemed unending, I spent days finishing this song. In fact, I had so many lyric potentials that I shared them at a Schreer family gathering solely seeking input.

Thus the final product is a conglomeration of verbal ideas from Papa, Deb, Mary, Sam, Courtney, and Nathan Schreer.

I wasn't going to record it today but after hoodlums trashed another city, inciting civil unrest, it seemed fitting to make it available.

Why the serious words are set to a circus-like accompaniment, I don't know. It just came out of my fingers that way and remains unlike anything I've ever composed.

May it stir your heart like it did mine.

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5

Restoration versus Devastation: The Game Is On

The effects of coffee had long worn off as I visited with my friend Wednesday night. Curled up against a tall sofa back, I smiled when she asked, "Don't you think the bad is out there fighting against the good?"

"Ye-e-es," I agreed with drawn-out southern charm. "That's a spiritual principle for sure."

I used to quote it with my kids every morning:

"For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities"... against the Darth Vaders of this world... (Ephesians 6: 12).

After trying to make sense of her stress and mine, I thought back to last Sunday, when it became all the more real that devastation tugs at the helm of restoration and we are caught in the middle of the war.

I posted a church photo on Facebook last Sunday. Overjoyed, I couldn't contain my excitement as I sat in a pew facing the massive organ renovation project.

For the organ that once played in Trinity Chapel on Wall Street will soon make music again in John's Creek United Methodist Church. Damaged in the notorious 9/11 attack, the organ was silenced and placed into storage. But when member's of the John's Creek church family heard about the magnificent instrument, they purposed to refurbish the pipes and move the instrument south.

It's taken years. Many years. A new sanctuary had to be built first.
But as of this summer and fall, the installation is underway.

So when I slipped into a pew on the 15th anniversary of the World Trade Center bombings, I savored the power of restoration.

Orchestra members soon took their seats. The choir processed in. Congregants stood for the first hymn and the service got under way. 

Drooling over the vast musical offerings, I sat unprepared, like everyone else, for what was to come.

About fifty minutes into the service, the pastor stood to preach. But instead of commanding the pulpit with ease, she said what I've never heard a pastor say before, "Please forgive me, but I can't preach today."

Say what?? On the 15th anniversary of 9/11??

"There's been a tragedy in our church body," she continued. "We lost a precious member this morning."

As she searched for words of encouragement, I discerned that a beloved someone committed suicide that very morning. Later I learned the pastoral staff had only been informed after the service began.

Devastation crashed over restoration, flooding our hope with despair.

After an awkward few moments, the congregants were asked to rise for the benediction, and the service ended. The abrupt conclusion punctuated the unwanted interruption and I fought to feel wonder again. The kind where the good guys win, the music resounds, and all is right with the world.

But guess what?

It's. Not. About. Me.

There's a big story being lived out, walked out, and diligently fought over. And every day we have an opportunity to join the side of restoration or to be part of the devastation.

It truly is a daily choice.

But not an easy one.

I've been swallowing prednisone for a week now and for the first time in six months, my right foot doesn't hurt at the end of the day. In fact, my right leg feels strong now that the post-surgery pain has subsided. While I'm aware the steroids may have something to do with the change, I'm still profoundly grateful for the lack of pain.

At the same time, my face pulls left. Not all the time, but enough to leave me feeling a bit tired from the pressure at days end.

Restoration.
Devastation.

They collide again.

The tug of war is in constant play. In my life and yours. I want to bask in the realm where all is restored. To float its peaceful, curative tides. But they are often interrupted.

So I'm becoming all the more intentional in my pursuit to stay faithful in the tight place of struggle. For...

"Our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body" (Phillipians 3: 20 -21 NIV).

And as I wait for my lowly body to be transformed, I made a short a short video clip so you could see what's going on with my mouth. It seemed easier to make it plain rather than leave friends worried.  

And if you're interested in diving deeper into why we suffer, I'll link to the sermon that was preached at my home church this past Sunday. By Monday morning, three sweet friends had texted, encouraging me to take a listen.

Having missed out on a sermon the day before, I indulged, and it was well worth the time. 

The text is Romans 5: 1 -11.

Romans Part: 6 from Sanctuary on Vimeo.

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2

Happy with a Dash of Snarl

Not only did I just swallow two  20 mg prednisone pills, I indulged in a caffeinated pumpkin-spice-latte at Starbucks, meaning I may never sleep tonight. Never.

While I almost chastened myself for forgetting to order decaf, it’s been too long of day for that. In fact, it’s been two very long days.

And if I didn’t live inside this body, I might be convinced I’ve become a hypochondriac.

The last several months have passed in a blur of health issues I thought I recently conquered. But alas, there was more to come. And it all started yesterday as I drove home from a podiatry appointment.

In hind sight, I hadn’t been feeling like myself for two days. I struggled to maintain balance. And as I sat in the podiatrist’s office, waiting for him to deem the stress fracture healed, I noticed my glasses wouldn’t hold my field of vision intact... which means that even with my high-powered lens correction, images still split in two.

After the doc told me to wear the orthopedic shoe for two more weeks, I took my leave. Driving home, I noticed my head turned slightly to the right, easing the eye strain. Priding myself on the unconscious adjustment, I wasn’t prepared for my mouth to pull low and left.

But it did. Out of the blue. And as I drove, my facial muscles began a game of tug of war.

The right side pulled the left side back into proper alignment only to have the left side yank hard again. The resulting spasms left me snarling like an angry pirate and fighting to smile.

However, if this doesn’t go away before Halloween, I shall buy an eye patch to aid my double vision and snarl with ease when trick-or-treaters come to our door.

Once home, I collapsed on my bed, certain the spasms would calm when I woke. But they didn’t.

I taught a lesson. Sat still. Watched a new Hallmark show. And avoided talking until Don got home.

When he did and we talked, his face registered enough concern that I knew I was in trouble.

So I drove to an after-hours clinic where I interfaced with a doctor within ten minutes of my arrival. After a careful examination, she ordered a cat scan, and a long wait ensued.

By midnight I knew the scan was clear, although I have a follow up MRI Tuesday morning. For now, with no sign of a stroke or tumor, I’m being treated for Bell’s Palsy. But for reasons I won’t explain, it took all day to pick up the medicine and swallow my first pill.

So here I sit in a Starbucks, fully caffeinated and pumped with steroids, wondering what my facial future holds.

Truth?

I’ve shed a few tears. Thought about hiding away for a time. Wanted to take a seriously long, winter’s nap. But went to lunch with a friend instead.

More truth?

After a day of processing, I'm convicted that this is my moment to live what I know is true.

The King of Kings loves me. Right now. Even with a slight snarl.

This isn’t a punishment. A result of my sin. Or some sign that I’m not special enough.

It’s simply part of living in a broken world.

And broken it is.

But I know The One who heals. I serve The One who makes good from bad. And I love the way He draws near when I lay on a gurney, a bit chilled, waiting for test results.

Oh how He loves us where we are, how we are, completely in our broken state.

So I will wake and live fully tomorrow.





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8

12 Days, 4 States, and a Lot In-Between

In the last two weeks, I've sipped morning coffee in seven locations in four different states, which is definitely not my norm.

So much has happened that I took a few extra days off from teaching to absorb it all. Also not my norm.

But after playing catch-up on bills, laundry, and several other things I forgot, I'm all the more aware of how out of my norm I've been.

It started in the Atlanta airport two weeks ago on an early bird flight to.... Akron, Ohio! Meet my siblings: Rara and Mark. 

From Akron we traveled to New Castle, PA to visit my parent's roots. From there we drove to Titusville, PA and spent the night close to where my grandparent's burial took place the next day. 

After much consideration I'm convinced my mom's parents now reside in an enchanted forest. Maybe it was the 21 gun salute. Or the pint sized chapel that barely held our family. Or the towering trees with the feathery pine branches.

I'm not sure.

But something surreal lingered among the tombstones, leaving me confident that death has lost its sting.

After the burial, we drove back to Akron, spent the night with my aunt and uncle, and flew home after sharing a hefty meal with family we rarely see.                                                                                                               

Storms delayed our flight and hampered the view as we headed south. But in between, we watched a sunset that lit the sky and colored the horizon.

The beauty punctuated the end of the trip well, since after only two short nights at home, my friend, Lu, and I left for South Georgia.

Last spring I became an approved speaker for Stonecroft Ministries. As a result, I was booked to speak at three women's events in Savannah and Dublin.  

Lu drove. I spoke and sang.

And when a window of time opened between events, we snuck off to the beach where I paid a $4 parking fee for a 20 minute therapy session.

The ocean had missed me.

Knowing my story, the hosts invited several women with chronic illness. Recently diagnosed with adult onset mitochondrial disease, Patti and her husband drove from Augusta so we could meet.

Sitting with her felt as rich as reconnecting with family. The mito community remains small. Few know the verbiage, the cocktail, the unique frustrations.

But Patti knows them well. And together, we will fight on.

With our tenth anniversary only days away, Don and I finally made plans to spend a few days at the beach. For those who know him well, you'll appreciate this photo of me, The Donald, and his best friend, Oswald Chambers, visiting on the sand.

Home for two days now, Eggs, our tabby cat, bolts around like her old self and order almost reigns. Another round of antibiotics took care of a lingering sinus infection and my foot seems to be healing.

So as I contemplate the coming fall season, hope wells up inside, although I'm well aware we never know what challenge may lie ahead.

"We plan the way we want to live, but only God makes us able to live it" (Proverbs 16:9 MSG).

If my plans unfold as my calendar states, I'll be speaking about once a month at least through January. Within a few days, I hope to have the dates and locations on my website and amazon author page.

Maybe I can meet you there.

And whether the sun is shining or a hurricane is blowing your way this weekend, sip some coffee, take a few deep breaths, make some plans, and then surrender them before the ink dries.

From Akron, Ohio to Tybee Island, He knows best. 

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