Sunday night church was always less formal and more relaxed.   The dress was casual, and the services usually had a lighter feel to them.  I most often did music in the morning service, so this was a nice change.  I had to do a quick rehearsal before the service started, so Kelsey and I arrived early.

Kelsey was my quiet child.  She was my go with the flow, shy, little blond angel.  She was one of those children that would hide behind her Mommy’s legs when someone, almost anyone, said hello to her.  She was precious.  In fact, when she went to kindergarten, her teacher was so in love with her it made me a little nervous.  Most of all, she was a Mommy’s girl. 

My girls heard me rehearse at home, so they usually knew the songs as well, or perhaps better than I did.  Kelsey liked to sit in the front pew and watch when I did my soundcheck before the service started.  She would sit quietly swinging her little legs, sometimes with a hymnal on her lap.  She might pull out a coloring book and crayons from her backpack and color away while softly singing along to the music as I rehearsed.

The mood at church that evening was light and fun.    The Praise Team and Pastor had come in and were chatting in back as I got ready for a quick run-through of my song.  Kelsey looked up at me and said, “Mommy, can I do your mike check for you?”  “Oh my gosh!”  I thought. It was the cutest thing ever. My little shadow wanted to be like her mom.  “Yes, Of course. Come on up here, Sweetie,” I told her. I was surprised and absolutely excited she was going to be brave enough to come and stand beside me.  “What should I sing?” she said.  “Oh honey, sing whatever you like,” I said.

Mommy mistake number one.    

At this point, the conversations at the back of the church had stopped.  The pastor had a smile on his face that filled the entire church, and the members of the praise team were all anxiously awaiting the sound of this precious child’s voice.  Everyone knew Kelsey was painfully shy. Kelsey slowly took the microphone from my hand, put it up to her mouth, and busted out a perfect five-year-old rendition of Longneck Bottle by Garth Brooks.  She sang it beautifully I might add.  Yes, right there in front of the pastor and the heavenly praise team.   I’m willing to bet no one before had sung that song in the sanctuary. No one could have guessed her song of choice. 

Mommy mistake number two.

“Kelsey, what are you doing?” I said. She had no idea why I reacted that way.  I suppose I was more worried at that moment about what my Christian friends would think about my child singing a song about a beer bottle than I was about crushing my child’s spirit.   By now, the pastor was laughing, the sound guy was laughing, and of course, the praise team was laughing.  I was so embarrassed. 

Kelsey started to cry.  She gently set the mike down on the ground and ran back to her seat in the front row, burying her face in her hands.   I cannot tell you how bad I felt for her.  She had done nothing wrong. In fact, she had done everything right, and her singing was beautiful.   The one who blew it was me, her Mom. I should have given her more direction.

I went down and sat next to my daughter. It was hard for me to explain to Kelsey why they were laughing. I explained they were not laughing at her, but they were actually laughing at me and my reaction to her song choice.  I told her It was my fault. I had told her to sing anything she wanted, and that was precisely what she did.  I then asked her if she knew what a longneck bottle was.  Of course, she did not.    After we talked about it, she understood why it was so funny.  I again told her it was my fault and how sorry I was that her feelings got hurt.   My daughter, with tears still streaming down her face, looked up at me, smiled, and forgave me.  I am so lucky.

Wishing you joy and peace,

Lorrie

Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven. Luke 6:37

As Elaine walked by, the litter of feral kittens scattered, all but one.  This one was too weak and sick to run away from the humans.  Elaine bent down and picked up the five-week-old baby.   The kitten was barely clinging to life.  Her body covered in fleas.  Her eyes were “goopy,” which was a sign of infection. Her tongue was white, and her little body was cold, a sign of severe illness indicating anemia.  This little girl desperately needed help.  She most likely would not make it through the night.

Elaine is a born rescuer. I asked her how many animals she would estimate she had rescued in her lifetime.  At first, she humbly shrugged her shoulders in response, but when I pushed her a little harder, she agreed it must be well over a hundred.  Her sister Dee describes her as a bleeding heart when it comes to animals, and over the years of knowing them both, I would have to agree.  

Being a groomer, Elaine took care of the flea problem very quickly.  She gently washed the kitten’s eyes and fed her goat’s milk from a syringe.  She also started her on an antibiotic.  Elaine got the kitten to the vet as soon as possible for her own antibiotic prescription and medicine for her eyes.  One of the most important things Elaine did for this very sick kitten was to hold her.  She held her… a lot.  She will tell you she held her to get the kitten’s body temperature back up to normal, but it was much more than that.

Elaine put the kitten in a safe place in her home where she wouldn’t be bothered by the dogs that lived there.  A warm, safe, quiet environment, something completely foreign to the little kitten. For the next few days, Elaine showered her with as much love and attention as she could.  The kitten ate and slept, ate and slept, growing stronger. The tiny kitten started to eat kitten food, although barely strong enough to chew and swallow.  She also began to play a little with the toys Elaine had given her. But still, Elaine held her… a lot.

Elaine told Dee about the kitten and asked if there were any way Dee would be willing to take on a second cat.  I think it took a bit of persuading, but Dee agreed.  So one week after Elaine had scooped up that dirty, sick, flea-ridded kitten, “Ginger” was on her way to her forever home, miles away from the cold hard life her brothers and sister were destined to endure.

I happened to be visiting Dee that weekend, so I offered to make the hour and a half drive to pick up her new addition.  The trip was uneventful as far as the travel was concerned.  If there was any doubt in Dee’s mind about adopting this kitten, it was gone as soon as Dee set eyes on the little furball.  Ginger was so tiny she fit in the palm of my hand.  She would wake up to eat a little, drink a little, use her litter box, and fall back to sleep very shortly after.  Her eyes still didn’t look very good, and she just seemed so tired.   She was still so fragile.  When we went to lunch, Ginger quietly slept in a small carrier at our feet. We then drove back to Ginger’s new home. 

Dee put her in a kennel in her laundry room.  It was quiet and away from her other cat, Frankie. Dee had no idea what to expect when introducing them. Although the kitten was safely inside the kennel where Frankie couldn’t get too close, the little kitten wanted nothing to do with him when he tried to poke his nose into the enclosure.  The kitten’s reaction was a bit concerning, but perhaps it was too soon.

The transformation I saw in this sick little kitten from Friday morning until I left Sunday evening was remarkable. By Sunday evening Dee had moved the kennel into the central part of the house.  Ginger’s eyes were almost clear, and she was becoming incredibly active.  Frankie hardly left the kitten’s side, sitting on the outside of the kennel.  By Sunday evening, the cats were touching noses through the kennel. Both were reaching through the openings to touch each other.  Ginger was playing and tumbling and trying to bite Frankie’s tail if she could get close enough. It really was incredible.  The life of this kitten transformed in a matter of a week fueled by pure compassion and love.

Driving home that evening, I keep thinking of the impact a decision to love can make. We, like Elaine, may not realize the significance of our choices.  We make a difference in the lives of others every day, although often not knowing.  Elaine’s kindness was a choice.  This wild little kitten was not her responsibility to save, but this single choice to love not only saved a life but is a living example of what love and compassion look like.

2 Samuel 22:3-4 says, “My God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation.  He is my stronghold, my refuge, and my savior — from violent people you save me. I called to the LORD, who is worthy of praise, and have been saved from my enemies.”

Where would we be if God weren’t so patient with us?  When our lives get to a point where we have no control of the outcome, God is there to scoop us up and love us.

Sometimes, He has to hold us…a lot. 

Wishing you joy and peace,

Lorrie

Evelyn was kind of a pain in the keister.   Admittedly, she was an excellent real estate agent, but she was not the most pleasant person to be around.  She was outspoken, aggressive, and very pushy.  All good attributes for a successful salesperson but not someone you would like to sit next to in a busy real estate office.  

I had been working in the office as a loan processor when the new loan officer decided she wanted to move me from one cubicle to another.  Not a big deal for me, but apparently it was for Evelyn.  She had gotten used to having the little cube next to her empty, and she was not shy about expressing her opinion.  “You can’t sit there,” she said to me as I was moving my office supplies.  Of course, I thought she was tossing a little dry humor my way to see how I handled it.  Because I didn’t have a quick sarcastic reply on the tip of my tongue, I just smiled at her “joke” and kept working.  However, she persisted until I realized she wasn’t kidding.  She was literally telling me I couldn’t sit there.  She informed me she didn’t want me, or anyone else for that matter, to sit there…ever.

Well, it wasn’t like I had a choice.   Seriously, I had no vote in the matter.  I was just a mere, part-time loan processor, basically working to pay childcare and to give myself a little time away from my crazy toddler.  I was just doing as I was told and following the orders of the cubicle gods that made all the important decisions in the office.  I let her know she could take it up with one of them if she had an issue with it.  She walked away in a huff.  I’m assuming she went to “discuss” her feelings about sharing a wall with a peon, but I don’t know for sure.  I continued to do as I was instructed. A few minutes later, Evelyn came back. She looked me directly in the eye and said, “You better not make any noise.” 

This is where it gets good.  Remember me saying I didn’t have a comeback to her rude remark?  This time I did.   I looked right back at her and replied, “What kind of cookies do you like?” 

She was confused.  She paused for just a split moment and said, “Chocolate chip.  Why?” 

I smiled sweetly and replied, “Because you need some sweetening up.” 

Ms. Evelyn didn’t quite know what to do with that. As she tried to process my response, I took a seat and went back to work. Nothing else was said.

The next day I walked in with a plate of two dozen, freshly baked, chocolate chips cookies for my new wall-mate.   Before sitting down, I walked up to her, handed her the plate, and said, “Here you go.  These are for you.”  The look on her face was priceless. I’m pretty sure it was an uncommon occurrence for Evelyn to be found speechless.  She had no idea how to react.  She looked at me and quietly said, “Thank you.”  I just smiled; no words needed.  Message received.

A few hours passed when I heard Evelyn talking to another realtor.  I realized she was walking through the office offering to share her cookies with her coworkers.  When asked where she got them, Evelyn proudly said, “Lorrie gave them to me.”  She said it as if we were the best of friends, and I obviously liked her so much I had given her a gift.  I didn’t mind.  Her reaction made the whole thing better. 

I never had another problem with Evelyn.

One thing I made sure to teach my children over and over again was to treat meanness with kindness.  We live in a world where kindness most often takes a back seat to aggression.  I don’t believe kindness is a sign of weakness. Actually, I believe kindness is a sign of strength.  I realize it’s hard to use kindness as our first line of defense, but maybe we should try it more often. 

And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving each other, just as God also in Christ forgave you. Ephesians 4:32.

Wishing you joy and peace, Lorrie 

It felt like too many weeks of rain for sunny California.  It made me
think of the song lyrics, “It never rains in Sothern California.”  
However, if you listen carefully you’ll hear, “It never rains in Southern
California.  It pours.”  And it did indeed.  Spring had finally
fought its way through the unusually wet winter, and finally it was one of
those beautiful Southern California days that everyone talks about.  Warm
sunshine, beautiful clear blue sky, and a gentle breeze made for a perfect
day.  Due to all the rain, the Golden Poppy, also known as the California
State Flower, decided to put on quite a show.

I decided I needed to shoot a picture or two of what the local news was
calling the “Super Bloom”.  Seriously, who doesn’t appreciate a
good poppy pic?  I hopped in the car, and off I went down the 405 Freeway
to Interstate 15-South to get in line with the other few thousand or so poppy
chasers. 

The freeway was a mess, and the traffic was backed up for miles.  A
drive that should have taken an hour and a half took three hours.  
The orange hillsides could be seen from many miles north which I believe served
as encouragement to complete the mission despite the horrific traffic. 
 The view from the freeway was spectacular, so it was easy to understand
why a person would want to get up close and personal with the happy little
orange flowers.  However, the urge to give up and turn around got stronger
and stronger as there seemed to be no end to the brake lights ahead.

When I reached “the spot” where the freeway exit met the frontage road, the
poppies were within walking distance, and the congestion was unbelievable.
People were walking, biking and motoring via most every form imaginable.
Traffic was being diverted, and the freeway exist was as backed up as the
frontage street alongside it.   The parking lot nearby was full and
overflowing with people and cars, and a fleet of shuttle buses moving at a
snail’s pace attempted to cut down the grid lock by shuttling poppy peekers to
the fields. 

I realized at this point a personal poppy selfie would take hours more of
sitting in crawling traffic. It was decision time.  I decided I’d gotten a
close enough look from the freeway.  My apparent need to skip among the
poppies as Dorothy had done had kind of lost its charm, (think Wizard of Oz),
and my growling stomach couldn’t agree more. 

The decision to take an alternate route ended up being the best decision of
the day. It’s funny how that happens sometimes.  There’s a highway called
the Ortega Highway that climbs over the Santa Ana mountains connecting the two
main North/South freeways of Sothern California.  It’s a 32-mile drive,
west of Lake Elsinore.  It runs up and over the mountain dropping you off
in Rancho Mission Viejo.  It’s a steep, scenic, two-lane highway that
connects Riverside and Orange counties within the Cleveland National Forest.
The view from the top was breathtaking and completely different from the view
at the bottom. The fields went much deeper than just the foothills visible from
the freeway. I could see acre after acre of the orange hillsides, most of which
could not be seen from the freeway below.    I felt as if I had
found a hidden treasure.   I knew the top would have a spectacular
view, but what I hadn’t anticipated was such a different poppy perspective.

As I reflect on that day this thought comes to mind.  Sometimes we get
so focused on getting the selfie we miss the wide-angle view.  We set our
goals, and we work very hard to accomplish them.  In fact, we often get so
committed to our goal we somehow lose or ability to see the big picture.

I was reminded our lives are dynamic and change is ok.  I’m not always
the best at changing my direction.  I have to remember it’s great to have
goals and dedication, but we also must be flexible and willing to change
direction when God chooses to redirect us.  Only He knows the path that
lies ahead.  Only He sees how putting us on one path and then another
helps us grow and develop.  Only He sees the big picture. 

Jeremiah
29:11 says “I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans to
prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

There have been so many times my life has taken a direction that I had not
planned.  Sometimes it’s not the destination that’s important but the
lessons we learn on the journey.  And by the way, not only did I see
something most of the others did not, the drive home was traffic free. 

Proverbs
19:21 :  Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the
purpose of the Lord that will stand.

Wishing you joy and peace,

 Lorrie

Working with high school musicians has to be one of my greatest joys. It can be challenging, humbling, exhausting, and enlightening all at the same time. One thing for sure, it’s filled with the unexpected.

We were at a music retreat the church sponsors every year.   It’s always amazing, and God always moves in unexpected and unpredictable ways.   The theme for this year was humility, something that musicians often fight to balance. Some have too much, and others too little.

The high school band I lead had done a fantastic job of preparing for the weekend. They came to camp prepared and ready to work. Quite honestly these kids have a better work ethic than most any adult music organization I’ve been a part of, either as a participant or as an observer. We worked on our two songs and had them ready to go for the showcase about 15-20 minutes ahead of schedule.

There are many things high school kids can do with an extra 15-20 minutes, especially those that love music, play multiple instruments and simply like to make a lot of noise. (Think drums.) I pretty much told them to take ten and relax until we needed to go to our next activity, fully expecting them all to grab an instrument and make a lot of noise.

What happened next was a blessing to every person in that room.  In the back of the room quietly stood a 10-year-old boy. He was there with his family enjoying the music camp as his very talented mom had been invited to be a mentor and teacher of one of the music workshops. They had been downstairs with us, along with a few others, listening to our final rehearsal as we finished up.   One of the band members knew the boy had fallen in love with the piano. He also had watched an adorable video of the boy playing and singing a worship song that was proudly posted by his mom on Facebook. This high school student was selfless enough to ask the boy if he would like to play his song for us, and the rest of the band followed suit. The boy shyly nodded in agreement with one of the biggest smiles I’ve ever seen. If for one moment I thought the boy felt put on the spot, or pressured into something he didn’t want to do, I would have stepped in. Additionally, his mother and father were standing by his side, so I carefully, quietly, watched them and took ques from them to judge if this was good idea.

The boy moved from the back of the room to the front where the band gear was still set up from the rehearsal we had just completed. As the young man stepped up to the keyboard, the students in the room treated him with the same respect and consideration they would have had he been a seasoned professional musician. Someone moved a mic over to the keyboard for him and adjusted it to his 10-year-old height. Someone else gave him their cell phone with the lyrics to his song, and when that proved difficult for him to read, someone else ran upstairs and got him a chord chart with lyrics that would be easier for him.  These students were incredibly humble. And in it, I believe they gave that young man an encouraging moment he likely will never forget.

The young man simply, bravely, started playing the piano and singing his worship song. As he did, everyone in the room gave him their undivided attention as they encouraged him and worshiped with him in that basement. It was beautiful.

Worship shows itself in so many ways. It can be giving your time. It can be giving your talent. It can be a loud, high school youth band, or it can be a simple, piano playing 10-year-old who sings and plays the piano like an angel. As I reflect on that precious moment, Philippians 2:3 comes to mind. It says, “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves.”

Wishing you joy and peace,

Lorrie

December 30.  I find myself at the end of yet another difficult year. I should be excited to see this one end and to see another begin. However, I feel anxious. I feel worried. I simply do not want another year like the last.

So I go to my closet. I’ve decided it’s a good place to start clearing out some of the stuff that needs to move past my house and on down the road, even if down the road is only to the little Goodwill trailer located in the local grocery store parking lot.  In the back of my closet I have placed a clothes basket, and in that clothes basket, live the clothes I have deemed now unworthy of my wardrobe. When the basket gets full, most often full and overflowing, I gather everything up in a large bag, load it in my car, and take the short trip down the street to discard it.

As I go through the clothes, I start questioning my choices. I look at a shirt and ask myself why I took it out of circulation. I tell myself I’m sure I could wear it a couple more times. I pick up something else and wonder, “What was I thinking? Do I really want to get rid of this?”

Let me pause for a moment to confess I have way too many clothes.   I’m embarrassed to admit, I probably have enough clothes for at least two, but probably three of me. When my daughter is looking for something to wear she raids my closet, which she sarcastically refers to as “the department store upstairs”.

As I contemplate what should stay and what should go, I must remember the goal is to clear out this year to make room for a better, happier, next year. The lesson is received loud and clear when I pick up a pair of jeans. These were my FAVORITE jeans. They have been washed and worn, and washed and worn, so much the fabric has grown paper-thin. I kept wearing them until a hole broke through the knee and they were truly not suitable to be seen in public. I know I won’t wear them anymore, but I wonder why it’s so difficult to put them in the bag. It’s almost like losing a best friend. I have become so comfortable with the old, I’m having trouble making room for the new.

But now I stop questioning and rethinking every decision made and start trusting my judgement that the things placed in the basket, things I have removed from my life, were intentional and placed there for a reason.   I choose not to go back, pick up, or revisit the things in which I have discarded.  I choose not to rethink my decisions over and over again.  I choose to move beyond.  I pack up the old clothes, move them out of my closet, out of my home, and on down the road.

Isaiah 43:18 says, Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.

We need to get rid of last year’s clutter, so we have room for this year’s joy.

Wishing you joy and peace,

Lorrie

Hebrews 12:1-2 “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.”

It was my first Christmas living in Ladysmith Village, Virginia. There was a community Christmas caroling event which I will never forget.  Let’s just say it brought tears to my eyes and brought home the meaning of “it’s the thought that counts”.   I know you think I’m going to tell you some sappy, sweet story about a wonderful caroling experience. Nope.

We met at the Clubhouse first for hot cocoa and cookies.  That was ok.  I was there by myself and didn’t know anyone.  Sometimes my all-alone-adventures can be a bit awkward, but  I will say at least the cookies were good.  After we filled our systems with a ton of sugar, we congregated in front of the building.  A young lady, apparently the resident drama star of Caroline High school, gave everyone orders, I mean instructions, of how the adventure would commence. I knew right then and there it would probably be a very good idea to claim an eggnog allergy, but I didn’t listen to my little voice of reason. I stayed with the group for a while longer.  Perhaps curiosity had gotten the best of me.

We headed off down the sidewalk, our fearless leader barking out her song choices.  Let me tell you, I’ve done my share of caroling, but never, I mean never, ever, have I been in a group of 10-15 carolers and been unable to recognize Jingle Bells.

It reminded me of the colorful way the adult choir at church celebrated a member’s birthday when I was a child.  As a special, loving moment for the birthday boy or girl, everyone in the choir sang the birthday song in a different key, or multiple keys at once.  They all thought it was hysterical, but for me, it was just scary.

Anyway, back to my story.  I think I only heard one person in the entire group that evening that could almost carry a tune.  By the way, it was not our drama queen leader, but you probably guessed that.  She could sing alright, but I think her ability was measured in volume, not in pitch.   Guaranteed, not one song ended in the same key in which it started.  Hark, the Herald Angels were absolutely not singing.

My core personality is to be shy by nature, especially if I don’t know anyone. So, for once in my life it panned out for me to fly under the radar. No one spoke to me, so no one knew a thing about me.  No one knew I had been a Praise and Worship Leader for more than half of my life.

I will say, however, I again realized how blessed I have been to be surrounded by such incredible, humble, musicians my entire life. Ephesians 4:2 reminds us to be completely humble and to be gentle and patient, bearing with one another in love. God has given me not only the privilege to serve others with my music, but also the delight and joy I experience as I am constantly in the company of incredibly gifted musicians who love the Lord. I am honored.

Proverbs 11:2 says “When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom.” With that wisdom comes the ability to know when to step up, and in this case when to step back.  I quietly faded into the back row and wished I had brought my earmuffs…just to keep my ears warm, of course.

Wishing you joy and peace,

Lorrie

I was boxed in.  I was surrounded by four plywood walls, much too high for me to climb over. The box had a plywood floor, and the top was uncovered. There were no windows, and there was no door. It was just a big, wooden box, sitting in the middle of the concrete garage floor. But I was not afraid. I was actually very excited and in awe of the builder. My father had just started building a playhouse for me. He had only the outside shell built, but he asked me if I wanted to stand inside and take a tour, an imaginary tour. I didn’t hesitate to accept the offer, never fearing he would walk away trapping me inside with no way out.

He had gently lifted me over a wall, and there I stood inside of what seemed like a huge open room. It’s funny how our perception of things can be so very different as a child, versus the reality of things as an adult. As I stood there inside, he was on the outside, looking over the wall at me. He walked to one end and pointed at the wall, “This is where the front door will be,” he said. He then pointed to the sides and said, “Over there will be a window and another there.”

I couldn’t, hard as I tried, imagine how these raw, unfinished pieces of wood could ever become what he was describing. But, my Father was a house builder. He owned a construction company. He built the home we were living in now. Even as small children, we knew his occupation.   When asked what my father did for a living, we would proudly answer, “he builds houses.” Although I couldn’t comprehend the plans he had for that box, I had seen his work, and I knew whatever he built for me would be nothing short of amazing. I trusted the builder.

As Christians, we can deeply relate this to God’s construction of our lives. We might watch the construction around us and become fearful.   Perhaps we lose the ability to let God put us in a box in which we have no control of escaping on our own. How many times do we wish for a preview of the blueprint, as we worry that somehow God is going to miss something?

But, in reality, we should be excited. Construction most often is a bit messy and takes some time. But it also carries with it hope and anticipation of what’s to come. Instead of being fearful, our builder wants us to trust him, with childlike faith. He’s going to take those raw, unfinished pieces of our lives and use them to build us into a one-of-a-kind masterpiece. Although we can’t imagine what shape our lives will take when the builder gets started, we can be sure the results will be much more spectacular than anything we could dream up ourselves. Isaiah 43:4 reminds us that we are precious in his eyes, and he loves us. And 1 John 3:1 says, “See what great love the Father has for us that He would call us His children. And that is what we are.”

To this day, I love the smell of fresh lumber. It always brings me back to that day my Dad was building in the garage. As anticipated, my playhouse was terrific, and the envy of every little five-year-old girl on the block. It was complete with carpeted floors, curtained windows, and the coolest doorbell ever. Do you know why my playhouse was so very special? Because my Dad was a builder. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“A house is made of walls and beams; a home is built with love and dreams.”-   Author Unknown

Wishing you joy and peace,

Lorrie

Growing up in San Diego, we found the beach to be our playground. Being a local kid, we knew the ins and outs of beach life. We knew the best time to hit Jack-in-the-Box for lunch, the best surfing spots, and how to manage beach parking. As a younger child, I remember my parents talking about “the parking issue,” but of course it wasn’t a concern of mine until the summer of my seventeenth year when I started driving to the beach myself. Before that, my Mom would drop us off at the mall, and we would take the city bus to the beach. It took about forty-five minutes, but we didn’t care. We would get off the bus at Pacific Beach, carrying our beach bags and towels.  We would then walk the two miles south to “our” beach, South Mission, where we would spend the day. It was when we were in high school, and started driving ourselves to the beach, that we quickly realized the tourists took over “our” beaches, as well as “our” parking spots, from June to August.

The trick to beach parking was to get there ahead of the crowd. No teenaged beach bum is interested in getting to the beach at 10:00 am, but if you’re serious about your commitment to the sun and sand, you’ve got to make a few sacrifices. You must get there about two hours before the sun burns through the clouds. Usually, that was about noon.

Most often, we had either two or three carloads of kids headed to the beach. We would take turns being the early riser, and that car would be designated to get to the beach by 10:00. Because we were now driving, we had the luxury of packing beach chairs for the day, a crucial component in the unique find-parking formula. When the early car got to the beach we would park, unload our chairs, set them up in the middle of an empty space, and have a seat, thus saving the spot for our friends who would arrive about an hour later. We never waited for more than an hour or so, but we did have to deal with an occasional frustrated tourist who might roll their eyes when we said we were saving the spot.

Now let’s fast forward quite a few years. I’m now on the East Coast, Cape May to be exact. We were walking along Beach Avenue, where there is minimal parking at best. In this spot, there was only parallel parking along the street. It was a busy, end of the summer, Labor Day weekend, and there were a lot of people out and about. As we walked, the sound of a man’s voice caught my attention. He was speaking quite loudly as he leaned out his driver’s window. It took but a moment to see what was going on. A woman was standing in a parking spot, “saving it” for her friend that was in route. This man was having none of it. He put his car in reverse and started to back into the spot, telling her he was going to park in the spot whether she liked it or not. She did not move. He was getting closer and closer to her, assuming he could intimidate her or scare her off. He was sure she would move rather than let him run her down. She did not. He came within inches of hitting her, but she quietly stood her ground. Oncoming traffic was piling up as the man continued to yell and the woman.  The divers behind him wanted to get by and were getting annoyed because they had to wait for him to move.  She simply did not speak, and she did not budge. Eventually, the man said something rude to her and moved on, as did the traffic waiting behind him.

My lesson here is not about who had the right of way, but more about the way the woman held her ground. There are bullies all around us, trying to make us do life their way. Some are quite convincing. They try to persuade us that their ungodly way is a better way to live. It is not.

1 Corinthians 16:13-14 says, “Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be courageous; be strong. Do everything in love.” And Colossians 2:8 says, “See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deception, according to the tradition of men, according to the elementary principles of the world, rather than according to Christ.”

Be on your guard for those situations in your life that will try to move you away from your faith. Stand your ground, stay the course, and keep your eye on the goal of a Godly life.

Wishing you joy and peace,

Lorrie