WHO INFLUENCES YOU?

Part of Adam's (my 7 year old grandson) homework is for us to read 15 minutes each night. I love this time together. It’s amazing to see his mind learn new words and now he is beginning to formulate what the writer is expressing through the story and the characters. The book he is currently reading is "Diary of a Wimpy Kid." It’s a negative, sarcastic account of a young boy and his brother, Roderick. After we read through 14-15 pages, I had to put it down and explain to him why we weren’t going to finish the book.

Donald Miller wrote a blog today entitled “Success = The Company You Keep.” He reminded me of the importance of the quality of friends and influences we keep around us.

He writes, “…hang out with cynics and you’ll become a cynic. Hang out with cheaters and you’ll become one, too. On the other hand, hang out with hard workers and you’ll likely pick up their work ethic. Hang out with people who are wise in relationships and you’ll soon find yourself a social ninja."

Laurie Lattimore-Volkmann echoed Miller's thoughts in a letter she wrote to Peyton Manning in the Denver Post after the Bronco's Super Bowl Loss. She nailed it! Mentors, heroes, what we see, what we read... it matters. A portion of the article is printed below.

Dear Mr. Manning,
…I actually understand — on the most basic level — what legacy truly means.

Legacy is something handed down that matters. It is something that matters to young players and athletes and kids looking for mentors to help them find their way.

You don't hand down Super Bowl trophies. You don't hand down NFL MVP titles or franchise records. And you don't hand down touchdowns, statistics or win-loss records.

You hand down an example of work ethic, of courage to come back after a career-threatening injury, of humility in victory and graciousness in defeat, and of perspective on one's own accomplishments. That legacy matters, and that's why yours is untarnished, even — and especially — after last Sunday's Super Bowl XLVIII loss.

It matters that you're professional in the way you talk to reporters.

It matters that you give credit to others — coaches, teammates, mentors.

It matters that you don't give up in a bad game and keep fighting, no matter the odds.

It matters that you take time to write notes to fans and sign autographs — even after crushing defeats.

It matters that you know the difference between being embarrassed by your team's performance and just not being the best team on the field that day.

And it matters that you meticulously prepare to play the game ... and encourage everyone around you to do the same.

…And I'm confident thousands of others agree with me. Whether you win another game, your accomplishments in football are nothing short of remarkable. But it's your character that sets you apart from so many of your predecessors and peers.

And that's a legacy that matters.

And this is why I felt good about spending $40 for my grandson Adam to wear a Denver Bronco’s uniform on Super Bowl Sunday.

If you have time, read the entire article at http://bit.ly/1jmpVxj
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Come Lord Jesus

Lord Jesus, master of both the light and the darkness,
send your Holy Spirit upon our preparations for Christmas.
We who have so much to do seek quiet spaces to hear your voice each day.
We who are anxious over many things look forward to your coming among us.
We who are blessed in so many ways long for the complete joy of your kingdom.
We whose hearts are heavy seek the joy of your presence.
We are your people, walking in darkness, yet seeking the light.
To you we say, "Come Lord Jesus!" Amen.

from the Catholic Family Prayer Book, published by Our Sunday Visitor, 2001.


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Just Passing Through

Kerry’s dad is in the final stage of his life. Hospice is involved and he is slowly making his way to the other side. While talking to my grandsons, we’ve been trying to explain to them that Ray will not be alive much longer. I’ve used words like dying and death to communicate what’s happening to him. Almost daily one of the kids asks me is KK’s dad dead yet? They follow that with, Mimi will you be dead when I’m a teenager? Though their questions sound harsh to me, it’s simply how they are trying to process death at ages 6 and 7.

Coincidentally, I was reading a blog today that talked about life and death as one event. They used a term I most commonly hear in Black churches or from some of my older black friends. Rather than declaring a final “death” they simply say he/she has passed. As a person of faith who believes that life on earth is simply a part of my life, and short in comparison, what a wonderful way to describe the mystery of passing from living in human form into God’s presence in the heavenly realms (whatever that might look like). What a great teaching moment for my grand-kids as we talk about “passing through” rather than something so final as death. Of course the body dies but that’s only the container. I wonder what my new container will look like in heaven. I’m counting on it looking thin! Sorry, I digress.

As I think about Ray today, it is much easier to celebrate the joy of his eminent passing, even though we will experience the loss of his presence with us. I love knowing my Mom and Dad, Mark, Jean Ann, Barney and others have passed into the better side of life.

One last note… without any prompting, on the way to school this morning, Ben looked at me and said,

Mimi, I hope KK’s dad dies peacefully.

How precious and real are these little ones.


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Amy Grant Strikes Again

I was listening to some music today as I working on my computer. An old song came on Pandora. It’s an Amy Grant song entitled Doubly Good to You. As only music can, my heart immediately flashed back to a place when I thought about Jesus much more than I do today. How wonderful those early years were with my love affair with Jesus. My abandonment into His care changed my life, every day.

As I’ve gotten older my spiritual roots have grown deep into the soil of God’s rich love and grace. I am more mature in my faith. But should “maturity” eliminate the experience of that feeling in my heart that is indescribably connected to the God who loves me? Perhaps it’s like growing old with a spouse or partner. The early days of falling in love are euphoric, but as the years go by love deepens and pain strangely solidifies true love. But too many of us neglect the passion we once felt and the feeling in our hearts that couldn’t be restrained.

My dear friends Barnie and Doris, who were like parents to me, taught me about mature love and deep passion. They faced numerous challenges in their lives and they walked through pain hand in hand. Married over fifty years, not a day went by where they didn’t stop the other in the hall and share a kiss or long embrace. Numerous times a day they took the time to look into each other’s eyes and tell each other how dearly they were loved. It’s no surprise they loved Jesus the same way. Both of them would tear up as they described God’s goodness in their lives. They served God faithfully and passionately. Barnie recently passed away and in a packed church in Tulia Texas two things were said over and over; “Barnie loved Jesus and Barnie loved Doris.” What a great legacy!

So today, as I read about changes in the church, a new culture of people who are seeking faith in different places and as I examine where I fit in to this theological discussion, I am taking a few precious moments to close my eyes and bask in the arms of my greatest love.

What about you?
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Brennan Manning - April 27, 1934 – April 12, 2013

My mentor, my friend and the man who helped me experience myself as “The Beloved” is finally free. There are two people in my life who taught me the real meaning of grace, Bill Counts and Brennan Manning. Bill changed my experience of the grace of God and put me on a spiritual path that totally changed the trajectory of my life. He also taught me how to extend grace to others and how to develop communities of grace. Then, in 1995 Brennan Manning wrote about and modeled an intimate picture of God’s radical grace for me personally; and that gift molded my life, saved my life and changed hundreds of others lives’ who have been involved in our work through Barnabas. It is the reality that God is simply crazy about me and the “relentless tenderness of God” that continues to be the truth that I stand on when I believe I am unworthy and unlovable. Brennan put it this way,

“Do you believe that the God of Jesus loves you beyond worthiness and unworthiness, beyond fidelity and infidelity; that He loves you in the morning sun and the evening rain; that He loves you when your emotions refuse it and your whole being rejects it? Do you believe that God loves without condition or reservation, and He loves you this moment as you are, not as you should be?”

The first book I read by Brennan was Abba’s child. It is the most significant piece of literature I have in my library. I’ve read it over and over again and still cannot take in all the depth of its meaning. After the life changing impact from Abba’s Child, I read every book written by Brennan Manning.

Having been seduced by Brennan’s writing, I ask him to speak at a Women’s retreat. To my great surprise he said yes! Through the years he also agreed to lead a silent retreat and speak at other events. He spent time with me telling me the truth about how God views me. One afternoon I sat across from Him and confessed my deepest fears about life and about myself. He took my hands, looked me in the eyes and said, “Abba loves you perfectly, as you are. There is nothing you can do, nothing you can say, that can make God love you more or make God love you less.” I believed him.

Brennan also taught me about prayer. He taught me to breathe in with the word, “Abba” and breathe out the phrase, “I belong to you.” So when the dark voices of my mind tell me I am unworthy, when my life is falling apart, when I think it might be time to check myself in, I stop and simply breathe, “Abba, I belong to you.” With each breath I come again into the presence of the one who calls me His beloved.

If you know anything about Brennan you know that he struggled with alcohol addiction and other behaviors that hurt the people he loved. But that never kept him from believing and accepting God’s love and redemption… over and over again. It was his inability to conquer his demons that brought him to leave us with the profound message “All is Grace.”



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I Am the Rich Young Ruler

I spent most of the night yesterday at Parkland Hospital, the county hospital where the majority of the poor and uninsured go when they are sick or injured. My friend works as an OT at Parkland in the burn unit. She has been experiencing some neurological abnormalities so she went to the ER to be seen by a Parkland Neurologist. Though she was enjoying some personal benefits of being a Parkland Employee, we still had to pass through a sea of people to find her in one of the hundreds of make-shift beds lined up in the hall. There was not one square foot that did not have the word “patient” above a bed or chair in the hall. The rooms were reserved for those who needed special monitoring or those who had been admitted with traumatic injuries.

The large waiting room was full of people who knew they would be waiting for hours on end because they were down the line in the triage system. I was in the elevator with one man who said he had been up 24 hours and couldn’t wait any longer so he was going home to sleep and return the next morning. Blood pressure cuffs were handed out as those waiting had their vitals checked to see if they needed to be moved up in the line.

As a former, middle class, white female I tried to imagine being down there with one of my grandchildren or being indigent with no strings to pull and no power to take control of my health care. I saw first hand what it would be like to be at the mercy of the system. My nice north Dallas doctor’s office with nice furniture and a nice receptionist is like going to the doctor at the Ritz. And my insurance picks up the bill!

Today I am embarrassed to acknowledge that I live in an isolated world. I don’t have to face people who can’t pay their bills. I don’t have to see people who are powerless over their basic needs. I don’t see people who were born into a system of poverty with very little chance of breaking free. I don’t see people who are sick and have to walk or find public transportation to a crowded ER. I don’t see anything but my comfortable home, with my comfortable life style and all of the “things” I use to keep me busy and put me in situations where I don’t have to see. God forgive me for not doing anything for people in my community who need my help. Surely, this is what Jesus calls us to do. But I’ve become the rich young ruler.
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Yelling and Pleading with God

Many of you know that I have a severely disabled son, Ricardo. When I first adopted him at age five, I prayed and prayed for God to heal him of his past that tormented him and caused aggressive behaviors born out of his survival for self protection. Through the years, his mental limitations and emotional struggles were attributed to much more than his past. Several years ago he was finally diagnosed with a rare genetic disease that progresses as he gets older. Watching him decline is sad beyond words. Most days, I can get by with gratitude for the life we’ve shared or the small window of light that still finds a way to occasionally shine in his eyes. There are rare times that he perks up when he sees old friends or he’s in a room full of people.

But most days, he is trapped in an anxious, weakened body that only finds relief when he sleeps.

On Sunday, I heard a song called, “I Will Be Free.”

I will be free,
I will be free to run the mountains
I will be free
Free to drink from the living fountain…

And I'll dance on silver moonlight
And I'll walk through velvet fields
And I'll run into the arms that set me free
For I will be free

I burst into tears as I saw Ricardo whole, healed and running up the mountain. Then I began begging, yelling and pleading with God to heal him. As I pictured him running again as he did when he was five or smiling and laughing as he did only a few years ago, I woke up from the miracle of his healing to the reality that only in death will Ricardo be healed. But I am not ready to let him go! If I entertain those pictures, I feel like I’m giving in to death.

There is no answer! There is no relief for him, outside of God intervening. And with over twenty years of praying for healing I just don’t believe that is going to happen in this life. So on day three of longing for my son from years past, I watch him sleep and stare at his face. I’m grateful for each breath he takes and I’m lost in my thoughts of what could have been, if only….

• Think of a time in your life when your heart was breaking and it appeared as though God was silent.
• Have you allowed time, expressed sadness and grief to help you heal or have you lived in denial, pushing down hurt and pain?
• Do you have a safe community that will allow you to be broken and allow God the time and space to prepare you for living with loss?

I could have ended this story with the truth of God’s comfort and presence in the pain. But there are times when the story must be told in the midst of our deepest sadness before we move on to acceptance.
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Who Cares about Who The President Is When....

I’ve spent the last two days in Houston at Texas Children’s hospital with my son Ricardo. He has a genetic disorder that is progressive and untreatable. We met with two new specialists who are going to try to help him walk again.

On the way to the hospital, in the hotel shuttle, there was a woman in her second round of breast cancer going to MD Anderson for treatment. She makes the trip every three months but she probably won’t survive. When we got back to the hotel, the talk overheard in the lobby and on the news was all about the Republican National Convention. After spending the day with other parents at a hospital that specializes in research and the treatment of very sick kids, it was no surprise that a multi-billion dollar campaign didn’t make much sense to me.

So what I wish I had told my youth group thirty-five years later is: few things matter when you hear the words, “You have breast cancer.” Or,“I’m sorry but your child is going to die.” Few things matter when you leave your father at an Alzheimer’s facility and he looks out the door wondering where he is and why you’re leaving him.

There are other tragedies you have endured such as finally giving up on your dream of a happy marriage as you sit in unbearable pain knowing your spouse is not in love with you anymore, hearing the news that your child took his life, seeing the test results that confirm you have AIDS or the initial shock that your son was not born perfect like all the other kids and is going to be disabled his entire life. He will never marry, graduate from high school, or have children.

Notice what all of these situations have in common. They are all about relationships. The most beautiful and the most painful moments in life are ALWAYS about relationships. So why do we spend most of our time trying to gain power, success and large bank accounts? Though politics, church, making a living and even standing for values that you believe in are a part of life, everything stands still when sorrow and suffering take your hand.

In 2009 I was diagnosed with breast cancer. At different times through my surgery and treatment, it was as if time stood still and God gave me eyes to see what mattered most to me. What mattered during breast cancer had little to do with where I had been spending the majority of my time, energy and money. Once I was diagnosed, making an impact in the world became less about my ego and more about the grace of God. I suddenly had time for the people who meant the most to me. I wanted to hold my children and live a simple, quiet life. I wanted to sit with Jesus as only He could comfort me and calm my fears.

The bottom line is don’t live and die for the next job, the “right" church, America “like it used to be,” enough money to retire or the illusion that you have any power at all. Instead, tell your kids over and over that you love being their mom or dad. Don’t let a day go by without stopping your spouse in the hall, embracing them and whispering in their ear that you are STILL crazy about them. Make time for life long friends, sitting on the back porch or talking around the kitchen table. SLOW DOWN long enough to make homemade ice cream and don’t be afraid to use the good china on Tuesday night. Click on the envelope below to send to a friend.

Using the "S" Word in Prayer

My 5 & 6 year old grandsons came home from summer camp last week with a few new words in their vocabulary. We talked about “good words” and “inappropriate words.” (Of course, now that’s a set up for Mimi when I use my own “grown-up” words.:-)) After we discussed the two words in question, Ben came back with, “Ommmm, Mimi, Adam said the “S” word at camp today.” I looked at Adam and said, Adam what did you say? Before Adam could speak a word, Ben shouted back, “HE SAID SHUT UP!”

After gently reminding Adam that it was unkind to say that to someone I thought about the word and realized it is perhaps the best word to describe my prayer life when I am truly connecting to God. For the first half of my life I talked to God a lot and actually considered it a pretty good barometer of my spiritual growth.

At some point in the last twenty years I got tired of hearing myself talk and realized I was spending a lot of time telling God things he already knew. After adopting my disabled son, I prayed so hard and thought perhaps if I could say just the right word, my son might be healed. I prayed the blood of Christ over him and under Him. For months, I prayed the Lords prayer over his bed after he went to sleep. I turned the table on God and started using His own words against him… “Lord,, YOU SAID, if three or more are gathered…, Lord, YOU SAID, all things will work together for good…, Lord, YOU SAID, if we asked, we would receive… and so on and on. Ultimately I had to come to grips with the fact that the God I believed in would not be so cruel as to have a magic word or phrase that I had to find in order for him to heal a little boys life. My words were not convincing God of anything.

A few years later I was in so much pain I couldn’t even speak to God. It was then that I learned how to pray. I “shut up” and listened. I had talked to God for years but never slowed down enough to listen. I’m not talking about a 5 minute meditation during a scheduled “quiet time.” I’m talking about an hour or two or three of opening myself up in the presence of God believing he was present and wanted to speak to my heart. This meant I had to get away and be silent. It usually took a while to rid my mind of my “to do list” and sit long enough for the voices in my head to stop talking. Once I “shut up” lots of things changed. I saw prayer as being all about God, not so much about me. That eliminated any pride or praise of self because I was clearly the recipient, not the self righteous Pharisee.

In 1995 I went on my first silent retreat at a catholic retreat center in Denton. We were silent for four days and those four days turned my prayer life inside out. It took one full day to be able to settle into the silence but after I did, I experienced God in ways I cannot fully explain. I didn’t speak to anyone for four days and I said very little to God. As a result, I heard God and I basked in His presence. It was as though I met him for the very first time.

Mike Yaconelli, a former youth minister expressed it perfectly after just spending a few hours in silence. He said,

“For years God tried to shout over the noisiness of my life, and I couldn’t hear him. It only took a few hours of silence before I began to hear my soul speaking. It only took being alone for a short period of time for me to discover I wasn’t alone. In the stillness and solitude, His whispers shouted from my soul, Michael, I am here. I have been calling you, but you haven’t been listening. Can you hear me Michael? I love you. I have always loved you. And I have been waiting for you to hear me say that to you. But you have been so busy trying to prove to yourself you are loved that you have not heard me.”

That last sentence nailed me. “But you have been so busy trying to prove to yourself you are loved that you have not heard me.” During my best days, I stop the chaos and business of life and listen for Jesus who tells me, “Connie, I love you. I love you. Be still and rest in my arms of grace.”

1. How much time do you spend talking to God and how much time do you spend listening to God?

2. Are you willing to start meeting God in silence? It’s scary when you think about sitting somewhere in silence. Other than sleeping, when is the last time you were silent for over an hour?

3. Have you heard God and experienced His presence in solitude? Try it!

In January, we will be offering a three day silent retreat. Let me know if you would like to be put on the list. Click on the envelope below to send to a friend.

What I Wish I had Told My Youth Group 35 Years Later - post #2

Richard Rohr makes a great distinction between the “first half of life” and the “second half of life.” He calls the first half of life our “survival journey” and the second half of life our “sacred journey.”

He says, “The task of the first half of life is to create a proper container for one’s life and to answer the first essential questions: What makes me significant? How can I support myself? …And, who will go with me?,” He goes on to say, “the first half of life is about creating identity, finding some boundary markers (spiritual traditions and beliefs, cultural traditions, trustworthy authorities and structures), making some money, getting an education, marrying, and raising children.”

For me it meant making my mark in the world (adopting children & becoming a minister), supporting myself, developing significant relationships and deepening my spiritual beliefs about God. I also spent the first half of my life believing I was right; right about church, right about God and right about how people should live. If others didn’t agree with me, I prayed for their salvation and hoped to somehow influence them to believe as I do so they wouldn’t spend eternity in hell. And, I was nice about it. :)

In my early fifty’s I began to see a larger world outside of life in my “container.” I could finally see the arrogance in my “know it all” spirituality. I questioned some of the structures I built with my superior moral high ground. I wept and grieved over the woundedness of my own heart and the pain of others. I had to make a decision, would I rather be right or would I rather be loving? Did I really have all the answers about the God of all creation? It was then that I stopped studying about God and began to look at God. Though the Bible taught me about God (which I still believe), God spoke the loudest about who he was/is through the person of Jesus.

So what can Jesus teach me? He certainly didn’t live the way I lived the first half of my life. He wasn’t interested in storing up money, power or even significance. He saw the God given essence in people who were rejected and abused in religious circles. Jesus spoke over and over again about the poor and our responsibility in caring for them. He wasn’t overly concerned with Caesar and the decisions of the government. I’ll say it again and again, Jesus narrowed it down to two priorities; “Love God and love others.” If anything gets in the way of me following those two laws, I am not living the sacred journey.

What about you?

Are you still doing the survival dance storing up money, power and significance?

What might God be calling you to do in order to follow Jesus' example of love?

Do you spend more time and energy defending your presidential candidate than you do in finding ways to help the poor?

Are you spending time with Jesus or simply talking about Him?

These are questions that get my attention because my answers remind me that I am only a beginner on the sacred journey.
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What I Wish I had said to my Youth Group 35 Years Later

Thirty five years ago I stepped out of college into my first job in full time ministry. I was young, full of energy and couldn’t believe I was getting paid for what I would have done for free. I was living out my dream of being a Youth Director and it was more than I ever imagined it would be.

Last weekend we all came back together, and as with most close friends, we picked up right where we left off. My “kids” survived adolescence to become executives, entrepreneurs, ministers and people doing fascinating work. They are faithful husbands and wives and committed parents. It was like going back to “Mayberry.”

As I’ve reflected on the weekend, which was fabulous, I found myself wishing I would have taken the time to say things I didn’t understand thirty-five years ago. During the first half of my life, answers seemed easy for me. And that’s what I modeled for my youth group. During this last half of my life, pain and loss have become my teachers and what matters most to me no longer fits in a black and white world. My theology continues to change as I break the gospel down to two commandments, love God and love others.

I’m not sure why I didn’t speak up about these changes. Perhaps I was caught up in the glory of our memories and didn’t want to bring any mention of pain into the discussion. I suspect, like me, many of my kids have not been spared from hurt and loss. If I could, I would go back and be a little more honest about navigating the hard places in life and asking the hard questions about God.

I’m going to dedicate the next 5-6 posts to “What I didn’t say when I was a Baptist Youth Minister.” Here is one of the things I didn’t understand thirty-five years ago.

Try not to be defined by what you’re against. We are a religion that continues to divide ourselves over issues that probably aren’t on God’s Top Ten list. In other words, “pull out the log in your own eye before you start picking at the splinter in mine.” I’ve been trying to pull that log out of my eye for years. God has used it to humble me more than I want to admit. Many more people will see the true Christ if we stop judging and simply love one another. Surely we can model the love of Jesus in more effective ways than going or not going to Chic-fil-a.

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Memories Matter

In Barnabas we talk a lot about stopping the cycle; stop the cycle of abuse, stop the cycle of rage, stop the cycle of passiveness, stop the cycle of family secrets. Today I challenge you to keep the cycle going; the cycle of special memories and cherished experiences.

When I was growing up my Dad introduced me to adventure almost every weekend. When I was five years old, it started in a “boat house” on Lake Dallas. It was a small tin structure with one boat stall. He gave me a little stool and a cane pole and told me to watch the red and white bobber. His instructions went something like this;

"When the bobber goes under the water, pull up the pole.
It's that simple."

I spent hours mesmerized by the bouncing bobber and ecstatic over every little fish I caught.

So is it any surprise, that all I wanted for my birthday last weekend was to take my grandsons to the lake. Some dear friends gave us the use of their lake house (a vast improvement from the boat stall) and after a quick trip to Walmart, we were set with life jackets and fishing gear. Back at the house, we had our first fishing lesson on the deck.

“Hold the rod like this, push the black button and when the bobber hits the water, turn the handle on the reel one turn and sit and wait.”

About dusk we went out in the boat and didn’t even have a nibble. The boys were so cute and determined. Fearing they would become discouraged, the next day I texted the owner of the house and asked if it was possible to catch the little brim or small “bait” around the boat pier. He instructed me to buy smaller hooks and tear the worms into small pieces. Getting worm under my manicured nails and having worm blood squirt all over my hands is solid proof of my love for our boys.

Within 2 minutes those little fish were grabbing at the bait. I wish I could describe the excitement and celebration that occurred as they reeled in their “first catch.

Following in my Dad’s footsteps, we went swimming in the deep part of the lake and I let them steer the boat and ride the big tube behind the boat. After wearing them out for the second day in a row, we had a big dinner and watched Airbud on TV. They slept like babies and I fell asleep grateful for my Dad and grateful for the blessing of handing down the gifts once given to me.

What memories do you want to pass on to your kids/grand-kids/other family or friends?

Are you willing to take time away and be truly present? No constant emails, texting or other distractions?

What is it you hope to instill into these relationships that they can pass on through generations?

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Flight 1296 To Dallas Is Now Boarding

“Flight 1296 to Dallas is now boarding at gate six.” Little did I know that twenty two years ago today those words would be the beginning of a brand new life. On July 10, 1990 Anne Broyles and I boarded a plane with two small children, Eva and Ricardo Cervantes. We met the children at an orphanage in Piedras Negras, Mexico and made arrangements to bring Ricardo to Dallas for a psychiatric evaluation.

The children sat speechless for most of the flight. They had never been outside of Mexico, never seen an airport and certainly never flown on an airplane. After arriving in Dallas they experienced more new sights as we drove past tall buildings on paved streets in an air conditioned car. In preparation for the kids arrival a good friend took her nieces and nephews to Toys R Us and bought a car load of toys to welcome them to America. The term, “culture shock” was evident as we pulled in the driveway and the kids got out of the car. They walked by the toys and into the house without saying a word.

Our first night was interesting and probably a little crazy for them as I repeated the only Spanish I knew, “Cómo te llamas? (What is your name) and Cuántos años tiene usted? (How old are you.) I wanted them to be comforted by hearing their language but they probably thought I was pretty strange asking them questions over and over again knowing I already knew the answers.

July 10, 2012 became the first day of a miraculous journey with two children that would eventually become the loves of my life. On this special day I want to express my deepest gratitude to the hundreds of you who helped raise, support and care for little Eva and Ricardo Cervantes.

The years have seen great joy and pain I could not have imagined. But the love exchanged between a lost little girl, a troubled little boy and a community of angels has been, to me, God’s amazing portrait of true love and grace beyond measure.

What could be happening in your life today that might change all your tomorrows?

How can you be a part of helping someone else who cannot do it alone?

If you are that “someone” who needs help, ask for it. You never know how you will see God show up in the lives of other loving people.

Happy Anniversary Eva and Ricardo!
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This morning I was thinking about my grandsons. I want to take them to do something big and fun this summer. I started checking the “get away” deals on Groupon. Four days at a family resort outside of Austin or San Antonio sounded perfect! A beautiful hotel, a kids program, a kids pool that was like a real beach… WOW. Unfortunately these were a little pricy so I began looking at other options… Sea World, Six Flags, a Ranger game, a short trip to Texoma…still not within my budget constraints.

As I sat with my reality I began thinking about what was fun for them. They are barely 5 & 6 years old. Today, they like playing Legos, swimming in a cheap plastic pool we bought for the back yard, watching a movie snuggled in my arms, hot dogs on the grill, finding doodle bugs and playing in the sprinkler. Too soon these childhood memories will be gone and replaced with Six Flags, Sea World, Rangers games, riding Seedos and going to Colorado. In one or two years I’ll have to beg them to sit in my lap. Playing in the back yard will probably give way to playing with friends, computer games and organized sports. I am going to miss holding them in my arms. In just a few short years, spending the weekend with Mimi will not be such a celebrated event.

So, perhaps God’s sweet whisper to me this morning is to savor this irreplaceable season with my grandsons and remember what they really need. They need my presence which speaks to them over and over again saying, “Oh how I love you. You are the best! Look at how smart you are. I want to be with you. I am not going to leave you.”

The larger truth of this story is that all of us still need this message. What are we doing in our life to experience God’s presence? Is email, Facebook, work and running through life blinding us from the truth that all of us long to hear? “My Beloved, oh how I love you. You are the best! Look at how smart you are. I want to be with you. I am not going to leave you.”

Jesus called a little child to his side and set him on his feet in the middle of them all. “Believe me,” he said, “unless you change your whole outlook and become like little children you will never enter the kingdom of Heaven. Matthew 18
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When You Struggle With Resentments

Dear Lord, we want You to find a yielded and quiet spirit within us. To make that happen, we need You to come in like a flood. Occupy us like water filling empty spaces. Occupy reserved portions of our lives where anger is festering and the secret places where grudges are being stored. Sweep through the houses of our hearts . . . don't miss one room or a single area---cleanse every dark closet, look under every rug. Let nothing go unnoticed as You take full control of our motives as well as our actions. Deep within our hearts, sweep us clean of blame and revenge, of self-pity and keeping score. Enable each one of us to be big enough to press on, regardless what unfair treatment we've had to endure. Take away the scars of ugly treatment and harsh words. Keep us from licking our wounds. Forgiveness comes hard . . . but it's essential. Help us forgive, even those who never acknowledge their wrongdoing toward us. Give us peace over turmoil, and erase the memories that keep us offended. We need fresh hope to go on! We ask this in the name of Him who had no sin and did no wrong but died, the just for the unjust: Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Chuck Swindoll 2012

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The Imposter

In Barnabas, we talk about "The Imposter." Richard Rohr captures the real meaning of "imposter" as he relates this false self to our :shadow Self." Many of us have fallen into the trap of believing our shadow (false self, ego, imposter…) and we have paid dearly for buying into the illusion.

Search your heart and live the truth of who you are. Even though our true self is flawed and wounded, the truth cannot fall out from under us. We can finally stand on solid ground and discover that indeed, “the truth has set us free.”

SHADOWLAND

In the second half of life, we have been in regular unwelcome contact with the shadow self, which gradually detaches us from our not-so-bright personas that we so diligently constructed in the first half of life. Our “stage mask” (persona in Greek) is not bad, evil, or necessarily egocentric; it is just not “true.” It is manufactured and sustained unconsciously by our mind; but it can and will die, as all fictions must die.

Person and shadow are correlative terms. Your shadow is what you refuse to see about yourself, and what you do not want others to see. The more you have cultivated and protected a chosen persona, the more shadow work you will need to do. Be especially careful therefore of any idealized role or self-image, like that of minister, mother, doctor, nice person, professor, moral believer, or president of this or that. These are huge personas to live up to, and they trap many people in lifelong delusion. The more we are attached to and unaware of such a protected self-image, the more shadow self we will likely have. Conversely, the more we live out of our shadow self, the less capable we are of recognizing the persona we are trying to protect and project. It is like a double blindness keeping you from seeing—and being—your best and deepest self. As Jesus put it: “If the lamp within you is, in fact, darkness, what darkness there will be”

Richard Rohr

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Success and Failure

Remind me that failure is the experience that precedes triumph. Teach me that forgiving is most important in the strong and that revenge is the most primitive sign in the weak. If you take away my success, let me keep my strength to succeed from failure. If I fail people, give me courage to apologize and if people fail me, give me courage to forgive them. God, if I forget you, please do not forget me.

Gandhi

As someone who has succeeded and failed and landed everywhere in-between, Gandhi’s words spoke to me this morning. Be kind, be forgiving, be merciful and walk humbly with your God.

Lord please keep me “right-sized” so that I might place my life in your hands and experience your grace in my greatest failures. At the same time don’t let me ever escape the wonder and truth of being your beloved, or as John might say, “The disciple that Jesus loved.” - connie


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Loving Well

Following Jesus means letting go of our judgments, embracing humility and our humanity in order to see through the eyes of God’s love.

Humanity around and within

It's a slippery slope, letting go of the lines that divide, seeing people different from yourself as human. Let the walls that make me an "us" and they a "them" crumble, and there is a world of humanity to love. No longer can you ignore the vulnerability, the humanity, the absolute sinner and saint in all of us. No longer can you push others aside or arbitrarily categorize them.

Confronted by the humanity around us, we confront the humanity within us and expose our collective brokenness. We come face to face with the things we are capable of, for ill or good. We lose the ability to hide behind our self-righteousness or be cozy in our carefully constructed boxes of absolutism and superiority.

Anna Woofenden

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"Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor..."

I read this quote this morning and felt very proud of America’s history. I read it again this afternoon and thought about the Kingdom of God opening its gates and saying…

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free… Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my light beside the golden shore.”

God’s grace continues to render me speechless.

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Happy Birthday Ricardo!

Today is my son Ricardo’s birthday. I just wanted someone to know. You see I love him so much it hurts. He is my hero and in his presence I experience the unlimited depth of God’s love. Ricardo is not “normal” by the world’s standard and most people have no idea that today he is twenty-seven years old. We will have a small celebration with our family but for some reason, I want to remind those who know him to remember this precious miracle who has touched so many of us with the indescribable love of God.

To Ricardo, "I love you son. You’re “abnormal” life gave me a life of love deeper than any other love I have or will ever encounter. Though you cannot grasp today’s significance, I thank God you were born and I am honored to be your mom."

For those of you who don’t know Ricardo, here is a brief description of how we met and a reflection of our unique journey together.

Today is my son’s 27th birthday. So why is that so special? It is special because Ricardo is special. At the age of four, Ricardo survived both parent’s suicide, as he watched them die. He then survived being left at an orphanage eighteen hours away from his birthplace. At this orphanage he developed meningitis that was left untreated, causing total hearing loss. He survived that illness only to suffer severe abuse that left him fearful of anyone or anything.

While on a mission trip to Mexico, I met him when he walked over to the small trailer I was staying in and tried to peek in to see what was going on. He stared and said nothing. Having no idea he was deaf, I asked him to come in and he cautiously backed away. Over the next few days little Ricardo could be found sitting out by our trailer anytime we were there. Eventually, he came inside, sat down and just stared at us with a smile that melted my heart. I could go on and on with details of our divine introduction but I would shed too many tears and the blog would become a novel.

I ended up adopting Ricardo hoping I could help him not merely survive but thrive on a consistent dose of medical treatments, therapy and lots of love. He did thrive but it didn’t look anything like I had hoped for. He never developed the ability to communicate with “normal” people. He could not be educated with “normal” kids and has never had a “normal” friend. Instead of thriving physically, his ability to play, run and walk has slowly deteriorated to being confined to a chair or in his bed unless assisted. In 2004 he was diagnosed with a rare genetic disease that will prematurely cause his body to shut down. I spent years begging God to heal Ricardo and lamenting about the undeserved trauma one little boy had to endure. I’ve asked the question “WHY” more times than I can count.

So why am I celebrating today instead of grieving all the losses? I celebrate because Ricardo has “gifts” that “normal” kids don’t have. He touched my heart and changed the course of my life. He has loved many of us unconditionally in a way that “normal” people are incapable of loving. For twenty years, he has screamed “Mama” the minute I walked through the door. My presence matters to him and his presence reminds me of the face of God, even when he is out of control. (Well most of the time.)

I can’t lift him or put him in the bath by myself anymore, but last night, his caretaker put him in the bath for me and I bathed him as I did for twenty years. Caring for his physical needs and bundling him up in a towel before putting fresh pj’s on him is one of those rare times between a mother and child that is indescribable. Even at twenty seven, because of his disabilities, there is nothing like tucking a clean little boy into bed with prayers and a good-night kiss. Thank you, God, for giving me one more day with your gift of a very special son.em>Click on the envelope below to send to a friend.