All of us have people who have influenced us throughout our lives.  For me, Cecelia was one of those people.  Although we worked for different companies, Cecelia and I worked on the same government contract. We worked in a large office building that was broken up into rooms with multiple offices in each room. Cecelia’s office door was right next to mine. 

When I met her, Cecelia was in her late-50s.  Something about her attracted me as soon as I met her.  She was an attractive woman and carried herself with just the right balance of humility and self-confidence.  I knew immediately she was something special.

As time went on, I got to know her a bit.  As it happened, Cecelia was going through a tough patch.  Her husband had been diagnosed with Leukemia and was currently in remission.  As I got to know her, I learned this was her second marriage.  Her first marriage had been abusive and riddled with dysfunction due to her ex-husband’s misuse of alcohol.  She had two children and had to navigate a difficult divorce and find a way to support herself and her kids.  A few years later, she met her second husband, the love of her life.  He not only fell deeply in love with Cecelia, but he fell in love with her young children as well.  They had a wonderful marriage until Leukemia came knocking at their door.  They took on the battle together and stayed strong in the war. 

Sadly, about six months after I met her, Cecelia told me her husband’s Leukemia had returned.  He chose not to tell her about it for a couple of months because he did not want to go through the treatment regimen again.  It was difficult for all of us in the office, knowing the pain she was going through and knowing there was nothing we could do to help her.  As I watched her, day in and day out, I was amazed at her strength.  She was honest and transparent, taking on each challenge as it came her way, one day at a time.

Cecelia’s husband passed away a couple months later. 

And then, a few months later, the company she worked for had some financial problems.  The result being everyone in the company lost all their retirement in the company’s retirement fund.  It was quite a bit for Cecelia, and it was the only money she had saved.  So here she was in her late-50s with zero retirement money and having to start over.  Again, she was handed a severe blow and handled it with grace and integrity.  I wondered how she kept it all together. 

About a year later, I had the opportunity to have lunch with Cecelia.  Little did I know this conversation would change my life and how I handled the many changes that would soon be coming my way.  I had no idea my life would blow up, but the words of wisdom she gave me helped me tremendously and will continue to help me for the rest of my life.

I asked her how she kept it all together with all she had been through.  This is what she told me.

Cecelia told me to imagine a storage unit out in a very remote location.  It’s not easy to get to, but it is definitely accessible.  The storage unit is not only locked, but it has a fence around it.   I was the only one that had the keys to enter.  Again, it is accessible but not easily accessible.

I unlock the gate and walk to the door when I get to the unit.  And then, I unlock the door and step inside.  Inside I find boxes of all shapes and sizes, carefully stacked and neatly organized, each labeled with a life event.  Some call it baggage, but Cecelia called it boxes.  It’s the same thing.

This is where we keep the details and painful memories of the difficult things we’ve dealt with throughout our life.  It is important to note, this is the stuff we’ve dealt with, not the stuff we are currently dealing with.  Some of the boxes are small, and some are quite large, but all are strong, sturdy, and able to contain the complete contents of each event.

If we peek inside, we will remember the event well, the details, and how much it hurt.  These boxes may contain feelings we had when we dealt with the loss of a loved one, the loss of a friendship, or the loss of a job.  They may contain things that somebody did to us or even things we did to ourselves or others.  The boxes contain our past. 

The point is, the shed is a place to put all the bad stuff we have had to deal with, so we don’t drag it around with us.  Once a box is stored in the shed, it stays there.  It is a safe place to put our stuff, so it doesn’t bog us down and keep us from living our lives.

Cecelia moved to another state long ago, but her words have never left me.  I built my imaginary shed, as she suggested, and it has served me very well.  I’ve found that sometimes I go to the shed and peek into one of those boxes for some reason or another.  It may be because something triggers a memory, or perhaps I think there may be something inside one of those boxes that could help someone else.  I pull the box down, open it up, and often cry while looking through the contents.  The contents never change, but I’ve learned that sometimes the memories have faded a bit.

When I’m done, I gently repack the box and leave it in the shed where I found it, behind the locked fence and door, only accessible to me when I choose to unlock it.

So here’s my message. 

The more life we live, the more difficult situations and events we have to deal with, or boxes, as Cecelia would call them.  I can’t tell you how many people I have met that get the packing right but leave the boxes in the middle of their living room floors.  They seem to deal with the event, but they can’t seem to move it out of their way.  Somehow their box becomes such a part of their identity that they never seem to move it out to the storage shed so they can live a happy, healthy life.

My challenge for you is to build your shed and move your boxes.  The things you have been through are not your identity.  They will, however, keep you from being all you can be, which is much more than your story of hurt.  

Wishing you joy and peace,

Lorrie

Proverbs 24:3-4 – By wisdom a house is built, and by understanding it is established; by knowledge the rooms are filled with all precious and pleasant riches.

One of my favorite expressions is “Please don’t assume because I’m nice, I’m stupid.”  I would say that’s mostly true, but I do have my moments when nice and stupid go hand in hand.  I remember one summer; a “transition” year as I like to call it. I chose to rent a small apartment and give myself a little time to catch my breath and figure out what I was going to do next.  It was a cute little triplex in an acceptable neighborhood. There were three triplexes on the driveway, one on each side, and one at the end, a total of nine apartments with the driveway down the middle.  The place was quiet, clean, and affordable. 

Most of the neighbors kept to themselves, but occasionally our paths would cross at the mailbox or in the driveway.  One morning I was wheeling my trashcan out to the curb for pickup at the same time as one of my neighbors. We chatted a bit and talked about the money we could save if we could choose trash pick service every other week instead of weekly, as neither one of us ever filled our can.  As we talked trash, I was thinking about my neighbor’s personal situation.  I knew a little about her lifestyle and knew the two of us were worlds apart. I also knew she was a single mom with two daughters at home and was a bit strapped financially.  So, I made her an offer.  If I canceled my trash service, we could share one can and I would pay her for half the monthly expense.  This would give her a couple extra bucks in her pocket, and we would have one less can on the street each Friday.

The arrangement seemed to work well for the first few months.  I didn’t mind walking across the driveway to slip my neatly tied trash bag in the can.  I made sure to break down any boxes to save space. I was careful to pick up anything that might blow out, and I wiped up anything that may have caused a mess.  The two of us rarely filled the can to capacity. She would take the can to the curb on Friday morning before work, and one of us, whoever got home from work first, would pull it back to its resting spot by her place in the late afternoon.  The arrangement seemed to be working beautifully.  

However, as time went on, I noticed our trash arrangement started showing signs of a meltdown.    Occasionally I’d go over to make a deposit and find the can full to the brim and overflowing.  Once or twice, I went over and found the can covered in some sort of sticky brown gunk where someone had thrown a drink at the can and apparently had seriously missed the mark, leaving sticky goo all over the lid.  Occasionally I would go out to throw something away and find trash on top of the closed lid, leaving the mess for me to clean up if I wanted to put my trash inside.  I figured it must be one of the kids, as I was assuming grown-ups understood the trashcan lid needed to be open if the trash was expected to land inside.  (I do, however, realize there are other types of lids that grown-ups don’t manage well, like in the bathroom. But we won’t go there.)  As time went on, the area around the trashcan grew more and more disgusting.  It really should not have been my concern. After all, the mess was on her side of the driveway, and it didn’t affect me in the slightest.  But subconsciously I suppose I was picking up on the subtle changes.

Late one afternoon, a few weeks later, there was a knock at my door.  There stood a very stern looking policeman who seemed quite unhappy with me.  He stood at my front door with some paperwork in his hands inquiring why I was dumping my trash in the desert.   He made it abundantly clear he was ready to hand me a great big ol’ ticket along with some community service hours.   Honestly, I had no idea what was going on.  I told him I had never thrown anything in the desert, and I would never think of throwing my household trash anywhere except where it belonged.  I was still a bit shocked and asked him how he knew it was mine.  He then produced a few pieces of my personal mail that clearly had my name and address on them.   My first thought was perhaps it had blown from the dump.  I’m sure by the look on my face he could tell I was confused.  He explained the papers he was showing me had not been blowing around the desert, but had actually been removed by him personally from a clean, neatly tied, white trash bag. He told me, with a hint of sarcasm, he didn’t even have to get his hands dirty. Then it hit me.  Something in my inventive trash arrangement had gone awry.   I explained to him the trash arrangement I had with my neighbor and that something, unknown to me, must have happened.  The officer explained to me he would go speak to my neighbor, but if he didn’t get an acceptable explanation I would be paying the fine and picking up trash in the desert for my crime.  He also assured me the trash I would be picking up would not be neatly placed in clean white trash bags tied so tightly a fly would struggle squeeze inside. 

I closed my door and went over to the peek through my front window as the officer walked across the driveway to speak to my neighbor.  Wishing I could read their lips, they spoke for a bit. She then disappeared and brought back her boyfriend as the discussion continued.  I will admit to you I was still bit naive as to what had happened.  I really couldn’t figure out how our trash ended up in the desert and not at the dump where it belonged.  The conversation between the officer and my neighbors ended with much head nodding and little eye contact.  The policemen returned to their cruiser and drove away, leaving me with more questions than answers.  

The next morning my curiosity got the best of me.  I walked across the driveway and knocked on my neighbor’s door.  Before any explanations were given, she offered me an apology.  The first words out of her mouth were, “I am so sorry.”  She then went on to tell me what had happened on her side of the driveway the prior evening. Apparently when the police arrived at her door, after speaking with me, they told her if she didn’t tell them exactly what had happened, they were going to fine me and require me to do community service.  She had no idea how my trash had ended up in the desert, but she did know the previous week she and her boyfriend had a trash issue.  She had asked him to take the can to the curb, but he had forgotten.  It was full and overflowing and she deservedly was upset with him for his forgetfulness.  He told her he would take the trash to the dump himself to take care of it.  He came home with an empty can and she assumed that was the end of it.

 However, there was a part of the story she had not been told.   Apparently by the time he had gotten to the dump it was closed.  Not wanting to go home with a full trash can and be in trouble again, he took a back road home and dumped the trash in the desert.  When our not so friendly police officers showed up at their door, he told her what he had done but also told her to tell the police she had no idea of how the trash got there and to let me take the fall. She admitted to considering it for a split moment, but she chose to do the right thing and tell the police exactly what had happened.

The next Sunday I told my trash tale to my pastor.  I was all wound up and furious that someone would put me in that situation.  I felt my kindness and eagerness to help was unappreciated and disrespected.  He patiently listened to my story, but his response was not what I expected.  Although not what I wanted to hear, he was right on the mark.

He told me it was a wonderful thing that I reached out to help my neighbor.  But nowhere does God tell us not to use our common sense.  In this situation, I had lost my perspective and was careless in my thinking.

 I wasn’t picking up what he was putting down, so he explained a little deeper.

When helping my neighbor I should have offered her to use my can and let her cancel her bill, not the other way around. By doing this I would not have been handing over my responsibility to someone else, trusting them to take care of details that could adversely affect me. This way I would be the one to manage the bill and the mess, but I could have avoided any awkward situation that might arise in the arrangement later, which of course is exactly what happened. 

He was absolutely right.   

We need to be smart about how we do things. We need to consider if there might be consequences for our actions. There may be more than one way to get the job done.   Having learned what I learned, would I help my neighbor again?  Absolutely.  But I would be much smarter about it.

Wishing you joy and peace,

Lorrie

Mark 12: 30-31:  Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. The second is this, Love your neighbor as yourself.  There is no commandment greater than these. 

It had been a difficult few weeks.  We all have them.  Sometimes a good solution is to break away from our regular routine and surround ourselves with different scenery.  Maybe if we get out of the daily grind, we can view things differently and recharge.

My friend and I lived about eight hours away from each other.  We would see each other a few times a year, taking turns at her home and then mine.  I called her and asked if she would be interested in meeting me halfway between our two cities.  I had found a spot I wanted to check out, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity.

Both of us enjoyed getting out and about and loved exploring new locations.  This place seemed to have everything we were looking for.  It was a small lake community in the foothills of the nearby mountains and was definitely a getaway destination.  From our research, it looked like we had some options for what we could do once we got there.  We could kayak, paddleboard, or swim in the lake if we chose to go that route.  We could do a little hiking or ride our bikes around the village.  We could also simply hang out at the coffee shop and chit-chat, another favorite pastime of ours.

So, I loaded up and hit the road, trying to leave early enough to beat the midday heat.  It had been a hot summer, so the Central Valley looked dried up and burned-out.  I remember thinking it looked like how I was feeling.  I was looking forward to the cooler temperatures at the higher altitude.  I drove about three hours in the valley, and then the road shot off to the east to start the climb up the mountainside.    At first, the climb was slow, but it wasn’t long until the road became narrow and steep.  As I wove around the mountaintop, leaving the dry valley floor behind me, I was surprised at how quickly things changed.  With every mile, there was less yellow, and more green.  And once I hit the tree line, it continued to get even more beautiful, with oak trees and pine trees filling in the empty spaces.  The air was cooler and cleaner. I opened the windows of the car and turned off the air-conditioning. 

I continued for a few more miles, as I zigzagged my way up the mountain.  The view completely changed when I came around a significant curve in the road.  This side of the mountain had been part of the devastating Creek Fire, the largest single fire in California history, with more than 379,00 acres burned.  Everything was burned, as far as my eyes could see.  We’re not taking scorched; we’re talking completely black, including the forest floor.  Even the air changed as I drove through the burn area.  The smell of smoke was so intense I had to close my windows and turn the A/C back on as I continued up the mountain.  Shortly before arriving at my destination, I again crossed the fire line, bringing me back into the beautiful untouched part of the forest.

Once inside the village, it was easy to forget the devastation around us.  The village was untouched, as were the surrounding cabins and the lakeshore.  The small town had been spared.  The locals boast of courageous firefighting and SCE’s forestry team that had worked for over three decades to protect the area’s forest.

The next afternoon we decided to climb a bit higher.  I wanted to take some pictures looking down at the lake.  I had already taken some great photos from the shoreline, and I thought it would be fun to take some pictures from the mountainside above it.  As we drove, I was again reminded of the horrible ruin the fire had left behind.  We found a turnout, parked the car, and hiked up a hill where we would be able to stand on top of a mountain peak and see the lake below.  As we stood at the bottom of the hill, there were bits of ash and soot all around, but had we known what the top of the hill would look like, I’m not sure we would have made the climb.  When we reached the top, I was overwhelmed.  There was not a single surface, horizontal or vertical, that wasn’t covered in ash.  With every step we took, the black ash seemed to float around us.  The granite rocks we climbed up and over to get to the top were also black and covered in soot.  There were no trees and no grass, just a few burned sticks about four feet tall standing vertically in the black dirt.  This went on for miles and miles to our east.   It felt odd to be standing in such destruction. 

We walked over to the edge, and there below us, to the west, was the lake. Looking in this direction, the view was gorgeous.  How odd that we could stand in one spot and look at two completely different worlds.

Once we got the pictures we were looking for, we started looking more closely at the details around us.  When we started looking for signs of life, it was amazing what we could find. We realized there was life even here in all this death and darkness.  We noticed how many of those charred sticks had bits of small green leaves peeking out of the black dirt at their base.  They were regrowing from their roots.  Some small green leaves of ground cover took off in all directions, but they were hardly noticeable underneath the black earth.   We also found a plant flowering in the shade of a fallen, burned tree providing shelter.  Life was there, but it was in the small details.

At first, we simply couldn’t see there was life through all that darkness and sorrow. Sometimes we need to look a little closer, a little deeper, or maybe right down to the roots to find the beauty. I realized it was much easier to see beauty in the unscathed forest in front of us than to see beauty in the ashes behind us. 

When I started the hike up that hill, I was wearing clean, spotless clothes and bright, white tennis shoes, but I was feeling completely burned-out.  However, when I got back to the car, I had smudges of soot on my legs, hands, arms, and face.  My clothes were filthy, and my shoes were black and ruined.   

Yet, I felt so much better. 

When we’re feeling burned-out, we need to remember there is beauty in the ashes.  It might be a little difficult to find, but it’s there.

The forest will regrow, and so will we.

Wishing you joy and peace,

Lorrie

The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor.  He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives, and release from darkness the prisoners,  to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God,  to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion,  to bestow on them a crow of beauty for ashes, the oil of joy instead of  mourning, and the garment of praise instead of  the spirit of  despair.  They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord, for the display of his splendor. – Isaiah 61:1-3

It was my friend’s birthday.  I wanted to do something unique and original, some type of an adventure.  I wanted to do something different than the usual birthday dinner.

So, I put on my thinking cap and came up with a plan to surprise him with a Virtual Reality Experience.  It was something I had never done, and I was pretty confident he would never guess.  He even bragged to me that he always figured out surprises.  I hoped I could keep this secret for a couple of weeks.

The day of our adventure, I picked him up about a half hour before our scheduled time.  I told him no clues were allowed.  I’m sure he was trying to figure out the surprise with every turn.  He was working hard at it, but I knew he wouldn’t be able to figure it out if he didn’t even know what it was, which I was 90% sure was the case.

When we turned into the parking lot, he still didn’t have a clue.  He was looking around with a funny, confused expression on his face.  When he read the sign above the business, “Virtual Reality”, he kind of got it, but not really.

I can only imagine his apprehension as we walked in the door.  He gets serious points for being a good sport.   We walked in and were greeted by Gavin, the youngish employee.  I had the advantage of knowing what to expect when we arrived.  When I made our reservations a week earlier, Gavin and his coworker Ben had helped me out.  They thought it was “cool” that the “older” people would check out the experience.   It wasn’t busy that day, so they explained how it all worked, and then Ben did a demonstration while I watched.  They were so great.

Gavin got us set up and helped us choose a game that would be challenging and yet not too difficult.  At one point, Gavin also jumped on the game and helped us protect our castle, the game’s mission.  We were shooting arrows from towers and fighting the giants coming in by boats.  We fought the giants for about an hour before we tried another game.  It was a lot of fun. 

For me, the most interesting part of the game was how easy it was to lose yourself in the fantasy of it all.

We also tried a “zombie” game for a few minutes.  But I couldn’t handle it.  The setting was similar to an open courtyard.  Through the headset, we were standing on opposite sides.  I could see my partner, and he could see me. Once the game launched, the Zombies came out of everywhere toward us.  I knew perfectly well these creatures attacking me were not real, but I genuinely was freaked out.  I was actually talking to them and telling them to get away from me.  I started kicking and swatting at them and finally covered my face as they “attached” me.  I got so freaked out that my partner was shooting at the zombies attacking me, not him.  I quickly realized I felt much safer fighting from the virtual towers than fighting on the virtual ground.  Hilarious.

Gavin should have recorded that one on video.  It would have been a money maker.

When we had about five minutes left, I asked if we could do something calm and peaceful for our last few minutes, which we did.  I felt like I needed something to calm me down before we left.  Full disclosure here, I actually had nightmares of Zombies that night. 

We hear about looking at life through rose-colored glasses.  Well, this was quite the opposite.  I knew perfectly well what I saw through that headset was not reality.  I knew I was not in any real danger.  Yet, I reacted as if I were, physically, emotionally, and mentally.   I believed the deception, if even for a few minutes.

The lies we are told, not only by others but also the lies we tell ourselves, can deeply affect our reactions.  Maybe we hear we’re not good enough or that we are selfish.  Perhaps we hear we’re not attractive or unlovable.  It makes me wonder what other hurtful lies we’re listening to that simply are not true. 

What monsters are you fighting today that actually can’t hurt you?  And how are those lies affecting the choices you make?  I say, take off the headset and chase the monsters away.

Wishing you joy and peace,

Lorrie

Truthful lips endure forever, but a lying tongue lasts only a moment.  Proverbs 12:19

For there is nothing hidden that will not be disclosed, and nothing concealed that will not be known or brought out into the open.  Luke 8:17

Before we launch into this very interesting story about modeling our behavior, I’ll give you a little background.

The story starts with a little 5-year-old girl playing baseball with the boys.  She didn’t even sign up.  In fact, she knew absolutely nothing of the game.  She was playing her first year of basketball in the City League when her coach asked her if she would be interested in playing on his Little League Baseball team.  He said he had one more spot to fill, and if she was interested, she could play on his team.  The only catch was the first game was the following Saturday, so she would have to go to the game without ever practicing with the team.  She liked her basketball coach and was a bit intrigued by the idea of another sport.  Plus, the basketball season was about to end, so why not?

I picked up Kelsey’s uniform the next day.  She tried everything on and looked simply adorable with her big blue eyes and long blond ponytail peeking out the little hole in the back of her baseball cap.  I remember her telling me the cleats were her favorite part of her “outfit”. To this day, my daughters both have a shoe thing.  I have no idea where that might have come from.

The next Saturday was a busy day.  The last basketball game just so happened to fall on the same Saturday as the first baseball game.  God bless all the parents of busy kids, with their smelly sox, dirty cleats, and mud tracked into our cars.   I don’t know how we make it through it all, but we do.  When the basketball game ended, we went directly to the ballpark with Kelsey literally changing into her uniform in the backseat of the car. 

When we got to the park, Kelsey’s team was already gathered in their dugout.  The assistant coach had everything under control, so our slightly late arrival was not disruptive in any way.  Our team was up to bat first, and Kelsey’s name was way down near the end of the list.  With a huge grin on her face, she took a seat on the bench.

The batter just before Kelsey had the third out, so her team stood to take the field.  Kelsey froze.  She had no idea what was happening.  Wasn’t it her turn to bat?  Her coach kindly said, “That’s three outs, Kelsey.”

Her response, “What’s an out?” 

Yes, it was a steep learning curve that year.  Kelsey was one of two girls in the 5/6-year-old league that year.  Most of the boys had played T-ball the prior year, so they had a little bit of an advantage.  But Kels was sharp and a good little athlete, so it didn’t take long for her to get caught up to the rest.  She ended up playing three years of baseball with the boys and three years of softball with the girls.  After that, she focused entirely on basketball.

I will tell you one more fun baseball story I simply love before we move on to why we’re here. 

Tryouts were a challenge for Kelsey, as she was painfully shy.  She would shine when she was in a game, but tryouts and being the center of attention were horribly difficult for her.

One of the funniest things in her “baseball with the boys” career was when she tried out for her 7/8-year-old season.  I will never forget this moment…ever.  Kelsey was not new to the game.  She had been playing with the boys for two years, so this would be her third.  She was a standout due to the fact she was one of the only girls, and she was an excellent athlete.  She actually had made the All-star League the prior two years.  So, most of the kids and the parents in her age group knew who she was. 

All the kids had to show off their baseball skills for tryouts, which included batting.  But being so shy, anxiety often would get the best of her.  Kelsey was over the top nervous. 

She was struggling as she was standing in the batters’ box that day.  Swing and a mess…. Sing and a miss…quite unusual for her.  Then from right field, cocky little Jake Bell yells in the most demeaning, sarcastic tone you can hear from a seven-year-old boy.  “What’s the matter, Kelsey?  Can’t you hit the ball?”

He was mocking her at the top of his lungs from right field.  My heart broke.  How humiliating and embarrassing for her.  The place was packed with kids, parents, and grandparents from her entire division.  And believe me, everyone heard good ol’ Jake and his wisecrack.  Then as the next pitch came over the plate, Kelsey connected.  As luck would have it, and believe me, it was pure luck; Kelsey hit a line drive right at little Jake Bell.  He missed it, but it hit him in the thigh and knocked him down.  And what did little Jake Bell do?  He yelled, “Mommy!” and started to cry. 

Please forgive me if I find it funny, but believe me, the humor was not lost on the crowd that day.  I was not the only one laughing.

 So, here’s why we’re here. At the end of that baseball season, the fight for first place was as close as it gets.  It was literally down to the last game of the season.

The All-Stars games would run into the summer, but that team would be a mix of the best players from the division.  This last game ended the division games and was the playoff game for first place. It was a super close game, but a typical game for their age group.  What made this game different was not the players, but the spectators, specifically the parents of the children playing the game.

The bad behavior belonged to the fans of the Red Team and the Blue Team alike.  As the innings clicked across the board, the tension in the crowd grew to a point that I could never have imagined.  At first, the frustrated parents voiced their opinions a bit too loudly as the game rolled along.  When not satisfied with how the game was being played, they started yelling at their kids, which is never ok in my book.  This escalated to turning their fury toward the officials, and then… the Red and the Blue collided.  A Red Team father took a swing at a Blue Team father.  The police quickly arrived and removed the most offensive of the spectators, both of whom were still yelling as they were escorted away from the game to the parking lot.

I understand what it’s like to be competitive, but these were seven-and eight-year-old children.  What was the real lesson being taught here?  Was it the game of baseball or the idea that we must win at all costs?

Perhaps it was a missed opportunity for a different lesson entirely.  Proverbs 16:24 says “Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.”    Those parents were missing a golden teaching moment.  Colossians 4:5-6 says, “Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.”

There will be many opportunities for competition in our lives.  Sometimes we will win, and sometimes we will lose.  But winning isn’t always winning, and losing isn’t always losing.  If we win the game and lose the respect of those we love, we really haven’t won at all. 

But who won the game, you ask? I honestly don’t remember.   

Wishing you joy and peace,

Lorrie 

The other day, as I was taking inventory of all the clothes in my closet, I wondered why I felt the need to go shopping.  I spotted a pair of shoes off to the side.  I picked them up and examined them very closely.  As I turned them every which way, I came to the immediate conclusion these were very, very cute shoes, maybe even adorable. They were fashionable and practically new.

As I examined them a bit closer, I noticed they had no scratches or scuffs. They were in beautiful shape and absolutely the perfect shoes for my favorite pair of jeans. I pulled them out of my closet, rolled up the cuffs of my jammies, and slipped them on. They were a perfect fit. As I admired them in the mirror, I wondered why I had set them aside. I simply couldn’t remember. Maybe I had been saving them for something special such as a particular event or a special outfit. Or perhaps I had been careless and hadn’t intentionally set them in the corner away from the others.

Whatever the case, I couldn’t remember. I left them on my feet for a few minutes as I grabbed my jeans and a cute top, kicking them off when I headed for the shower.  I worked through my usual morning routine and put on my “new” shoes just before I headed out the door to work. They looked pretty fabulous… if I do say so myself.  After a quick stop at the coffee shop, I headed to the office.

About two hours into my day, my feet were killing me.  How could that be? I had been sitting at my desk working quietly, not running a marathon. About four hours into my day, my feet hurt so badly I had to kick my shoes off under my desk, only putting them back on if I had to walk out of my office. I dealt with the shoe issue for the rest of what felt like a very long day.

As soon as the clock struck five, I hobbled to my car. The shoes came off as soon as I sat down in the driver’s seat. I couldn’t get home fast enough to get some comfortable shoes on my aching feet.

When I limped into my house barefooted, nine hours after I had left for work, I had blisters the size of dimes on four of my toes! As my girls would say, my feet were “torn up.” I gingerly walked into my closet in search of some replacement foot apparel to hush the puppies. I thankfully found a pair of old, comfortable, worn tennis shoes that were sure to do the trick. However, as I put on my tried-and-true old faithfuls, my feet still hurt like heck. My feet were so sore I soon realized even flip-flops couldn’t ease the throbbing. All I could do was wrap my blisters in bandages and wait for my feet to heal.  

As I was swapping bandages a few nights later, I thought about the similarities between the “cute shoes” and what we do with so many of the lessons we learn in our lives. I had completely forgotten why I had tossed those cute little shoes into the corner of my closet to begin with. I may have briefly considered the possibility that there might be a reason for them to have been separated from the rest, but I quickly discarded the thought with a quick rationalization that it couldn’t be that big a deal. They were just so cute.

Instead of taking time to figure out why the shoes were set aside, I was completely distracted by their charm and positive attributes. And how equally foolish of me it was to have kept them in the closet the last time I wore them, knowing the damage they would cause me. I should have protected myself against any possibility of having to learn that painful lesson again. The shoes hadn’t changed, nor had my feet. If I had permanently removed the shoes from my closet the first time I learned they were a bad choice, I would have spared myself the agony of relearning the lesson. I had put myself in a position of once again having to wait for my self-inflected wounds to heal.

The Bible tells us all kinds of stuff about being wise. Here are a couple of verses that simply tell it like it is.  

Proverbs 14:33 says, “Wisdom rests in the heart of a man of understanding, but it makes itself known even in the midst of fools.”  

And here’s another.  Proverbs 14:16 says, “One who is wise is cautious and turns away from evil, but a fool is reckless and careless.”

Let’s continue to weed out our closets. Let’s not simply push aside the things that are harmful to us, but let’s ditch them altogether. Remember, if the shoe fits, wear it. If not, maybe it’s time to go shopping for something that’s a better fit after all.

Wishing you joy and peace,

Lorrie

It was a typical weekend afternoon for us.  Kelsey was super excited about going to her softball coach’s house to pick up her windbreaker for the All-Star team.  As typical for a Saturday, we had errands to run, so we added that stop to the trip list.

My older daughter’s friend, Jill, had spent the night with us, so the four of us piled into the car that morning. Becca and Jill were in the back, and Kelsey and I were in the front.  One quick note about Jill.  She was hilarious.  You never knew what she would do.  This is the same girl that climbed in my car with a megaphone one afternoon, without my knowledge.  When we drove into the parking lot to get ourselves a Jamba Juice, she rolled down the window and started chatting to people on the sidewalk as we drove by.  She was super lighthearted and always fun to be around.  So, as usual, we headed down the road with Becca and Jill giggling in the back seat about who knows what.  The topics of conversation for the day aren’t important, but the normality of the day is.

 At some point, I saw something incredibly strange in my rear-view mirror.  I didn’t say a word.  I was sure my eyes were playing tricks on me.  So, I looked again.  And then a third time.  If what I saw was real, it could be a very bad situation for us.  I took a minute to gather my thoughts and figure out how I would handle this. 

The first thing I did was reach over and turn off the tunes.  That got everyone’s attention.  I made my first announcement. 

“Ok, girls,” I said. “I need your complete focus here. I’ve got to tell you something, but you have to listen up and do exactly what I say.” 

It was a bit dramatic, but it was necessary.  The two little wild cards in the back seat needed to know by my tone I wasn’t goofing around.  Things quickly settled down back there.

“I’m going to tell you something, but first, I need to know you’re listing to me and will do exactly what I say.  Are we good?”

With that, I got a unanimous “Yes.”

“First, when I tell you what I see, I do not want you to turn around and look.  You’re going to want to, but it’s really important that you don’t.  OK?”

Again, I got agreement from the two in the back seat and one from the front.  So, I continued.

I explained to them there was a white van directly behind me.  It looked like a work van, the kind a telephone repairman might drive.  I couldn’t see the entire side of it, but I did note there was no logo or any sort of writing, just an odd mural.  I could see the driver and the passenger sitting in the front seats.  However, both of them had black knit ski masks covering their faces.

The girls immediately understood the situation.  It was August in Southern California, and it was a very warm day, not exactly ski-mask season.  Something was very wrong here.  The black ski masks were scary enough, but there was something else I hadn’t told them yet.  I could also see a gun.  The passenger’s left hand held the gun in the vertical position.  I couldn’t see the entire gun, but I most definitely could make out most of the barrel and the tip.

And at this point, I was 100% sure of what I saw.  I was incredibly uncomfortable with the van behind me, and I certainly did not want them to know I had seen them.  So, I told the girls, “We’re going to take the next right turn and let them go in front of us.”

The next cross street was a bit down the road, so I asked the girls to help me look for it, hoping to distract them.   It felt like forever.  I asked Kelsey to grab a napkin from the glove box and a pen from my purse.  I told her we would write down the license plate if we got a chance.  I then asked her to grab my phone, dial 911, and hand it to me. These were the days when our phones did not connect to our cars, so using your cell phone while driving was a big no-no.

 The car was silent.  Even Jill was completely silent.  The Jill we knew would have made a quick crack about me getting a ticket for talking on my phone while driving.   It didn’t get more real for them than when I had Kelsey dial 911.

I think I got transferred twice before I actually got to speak to someone.  I told the officer what was happening, where we were, and what I saw.  I also told her about the gun that I could see.  Lucky for me, the girls were calm and did not react to new information.  I told the officer I was going to turn off the street we were on and let the van pass at the next cross street.  As I turned, the van passed right by us.  At that point, I told the officer the street name where we turned, and our 911 call ended. 

We made a U-turn, turned right onto our original street, and continued down the road, assuming there was plenty of road in front of us separating us from the van, which there was. We could see the van, but we were a safe distance behind it.  I carefully drove on.  When the van driver signaled for a right turn into a shopping center, we slowed a bit to avoid getting too close.  However, as we passed, we had a perfect view of the license plate.  Kelsey wrote it down, and we felt much safer now that we were in the clear.

Just as the volume in the back seat started to rise, my cell phone rang.  Kelsey answered it and let me know it was the police.  Again, our car went silent.

This officer had a ton of questions.  He wanted to know where the van was now.  He also wanted me to describe the van again. Proudly I told him the girls had gotten the plate number, and we gave him the information.  The next question he asked totally took me by surprise.  He said, “Could you go back and follow the van into the shopping center and let us know where it goes?”

HECK NO!  That was absolutely not going to happen.  I told him I had an 11-year-old and two fifteen-year-old kids in my car and would not be doing that.  So, the call ended, and we went on our way.   

And that was it.  We never heard or read anything else about it. 

Once we picked up Kelsey’s jacket, we finished our errands and headed home.  We made up all kinds of stories as to what happened in that shopping center.  Did we prevent a robbery?  Did our tips help capture a bad guy or two?  We were left with so many questions.  But I realized later that we could sum up what we most wanted to know in a single question.  Did we make a difference?  We will never know, but I hope we did.

There will be times when we are simply minding our own business but somehow find ourselves smack in the middle of someone else’s circumstance.  It can be hard to determine if it’s a problem or an opportunity. 

Helping others when we can is just the right thing to do, but we don’t always have to be in the thick of things to make a difference.  Sometimes it’s better to move to the sidelines and help from there, where it’s safer.  Sometimes it’s not our job to be front and center.

Many times, how we help is a choice.  Every little bit helps.  We can choose to handle a situation with a megaphone, or we can quietly help from the back seat.

Wishing you joy and peace,

Lorrie

He who guards his mouth and his tongue, guards his soul from troubles.  Proverbs 21:23

Looking for a new house should be fun. Right? But often, it’s over-the-top stressful. There are so many variables. A house may be too big, or it may be too small. The price needs to be right; the yard needs to be large… or not. And then there’s location, location, location. I often joke that looking for a house is like finding the right relationships. We must decide what our deal breakers are. What are we willing to negotiate, and where are we willing to compromise?

This time, the house hunt was extra tricky. The houses currently on the market were selling so quickly; many sold before I could even see them. I looked at houses every Saturday morning, and still, many sold before I could even get to see them. And to make things worse, the prices were climbing weekly due to the high demand. I had a pretty good agent, but she simply couldn’t keep up. I needed to find something sooner than later. I was now running out of time and starting to feel the pressure. Although I had been watching the market for the year prior, there was no way I could have predicted how crazy the market would get when I was ready to buy.

It was time to get serious about the search. My loan was approved, and I took care of everything I could ahead of time. I knew exactly my price range, and I was online every morning to see if any new listings were available from the day before.

If I saw something in my price range, I would immediately call my realtor, and we would try to see the home before a “Sold” sign was placed in the yard. The market was such that the homes I was looking for were in very high demand, which presented another problem. They were selling way above the listed price. I would make an offer at the list price, but I never came close to getting an offer accepted. It was so frustrating.

We looked at one home with almost everything on my wish list. The price was close, and the neighborhood was almost right, but I just didn’t love it. However, what was I to do? I had made nine offers on homes and had only gotten one counteroffer at a price I couldn’t afford. I was discouraged, so discouraged. I could make a low offer on the house, knowing I most likely wouldn’t get it. But did I really want to waste everybody’s time? And what if, by some crazy miracle, the seller accepted my offer? I would probably be kicking myself when I was living in a home that I didn’t L-O-V-E. On the other hand, the pressure was on, and I didn’t seem to be finding anything else. I told my realtor I’d get back to her by the end of the day and let her know if I wanted to make an offer on it or not.

I felt defeated. I walked to my car, climbed in, and sat there for a few minutes. I prayed, “What should I do?” I got nothing. So, I decided I’d take a walk. I thought it might be good to get outside and have some uninterrupted God time. Just down the street was a walking path, precisely what I needed.

A little way down the trail, the path came to a crossroads. If I went left or right, I would parallel a small river. If I went straight, I would cross over the river. I stayed the course and walked over the bridge. I was curious to see what was on the other side. Once over the bridge, the pathway went to the left to a housing track. I continued down the path to the end and then had a decision to make. Do I turn back, or do I walk down to the shoreline and walk along the riverbank?

It was a beautiful day, and I wasn’t ready to cut my walk short, so I kept walking. I walked down to the riverbank and checked out the water.

I couldn’t tell how deep it was, but it was moving along. I could see the walking path on the other side if I looked closely. Knowing I probably should have taken a left turn back at the crossroads, I had to smile. I would at least have been on the same side of the river as my car. I could go back the way I came, or I could keep walking upstream without knowing how far I would have to go before finding a way to cross back over the river. The rolling hills of the countryside made it impossible to see what lay ahead.

Just as I was ready to turn around, I heard that still, quiet voice that we often can’t hear unless we get rid of all the other distractions in our lives. “Keep walking,” it said. So, I did. As I climbed up the knoll, a rabbit hopped across my path. I could hear the river’s flow and the birds singing. And the view was spectacular. I was still thinking about the house situation, but for the moment, I was more focused on how to get back across that river. However, I felt God prompting me to keep walking more than a couple of times.

Obedience doesn’t have to be difficult. However, sometimes there’s a lot of faith wrapped up in it.

Even as a long-time Christian, I still sometimes struggle with giving up control and remembering God already has everything worked out. I wonder how many times I’ve bailed out of a situation when the solution to my problem was literally just a few steps away.

When I got to the top of the knoll, guess what was just a few yards away? There was another bridge over the river. Once I climbed that little hill, it was in plain sight.

I realized that God did answer me. His answer was actually quite simple. Keep walking. He wanted me to keep doing what I was doing and believe he was taking care of the problem. He already had a plan and a solution.

It was an easy decision not to submit an offer on the house that day. I just didn’t love it. Although I was feeling the pressure of the time crunch, I would keep looking. Or, for now, I’d keep walking. I called my agent on my way home to let her know we would not be putting an offer in on this house, but we would keep looking.

Sure enough, a week later, a different house came up. My agent called me and suggested we look at it. I had seen it listed, but the pictures of this house didn’t look like something I would be interested in checking out. The asking price was at my max, and it obviously needed some work. I also assumed I would be unlikely to purchase it at the list price due to how the homes were selling in the area.

I agreed to look at the house with my agent that weekend. When we pulled up to the front, I was surprised it didn’t look as run-down as I had expected. When we walked in, I felt the same way. It was horribly dirty and needed interior paint, new carpet, and new appliances, but I could handle those things if the purchase price were in my range. It was the perfect size and super cute. The pictures made it look so much worse than it was. All this house needed was a little love to make it livable.

My agent suggested I make an offer at the listed price with a carpet allowance. I thought there was no way the sellers would go for it, but the listing agent said the owners wanted to sell it as soon as possible. Apparently, the sellers had not received a single offer at this point. It was worth a try; what a crazy turn.

I made my offer that day, and the owners accepted it immediately. I wasn’t fearful. I knew if there were anything significantly wrong with the house, it would show up in the inspection and appraisal. The escrow was set at thirty days, but it closed two weeks early, giving me time to get all the repairs taken care of before I moved in. Here’s another fun note. When we did the final walk-through, my realtor told me the owners had received multiple offers the following day after accepting my offer, all of which were higher than mine.

We can look at this story as if everything would have been ok in the end, which is probably true. But isn’t it nice to be reminded that God is in the small stuff? It’s personal. Sometimes God’s voice is so quiet I’m sure we miss it.

The best decision I made that day had nothing to do with whether I should make an offer on a house that was almost right. The best decision I made that day was to take a walk and find a quiet place to hear God’s voice.

 Wishing you joy and peace,

Lorrie

Seek the Lord and his strength, seek his presence continually. Chronicles 16:11

After moving into one of my homes, I remember noticing an empty wall in the kitchen that was in need of a little love. I tried to ignore it, I really did, but there it was staring at me, begging for attention. What’s a girl to do? A new place requires new stuff. Am I right? I thought perhaps a little shopping trip to the local K-Mart might solve the problem. 

So off I went to see if I could find a little something to take up some of that empty wall space. And indeed, I found the perfect solution. It was one of those cute little kitchen hutches. All I had to do was get it home, put it together, and voila, instant cuteness. It seemed like a simple enough plan.   

All who know me well know I’m not really, shall we say, mechanically inclined. For me, anything that requires assembly is not quite as easy as the box promises it to be. In fact, if you were to judge my handyman capabilities by taking inventory of my toolbox, the realization would hit you sooner than later. Peeking inside my toolbox right now, you would find two screwdrivers, one wrench, one needle nose pliers, a bunch of nails, and three hammers. (I like hammers because I know what to do with them.) There is also a set of ratchets that someone must have left behind, but I was told I need a ratchet wrench to go with them; go figure. I wouldn’t know a ratchet wrench from a monkey wrench. Anything else in my toolbox would be labeled a “thing-a-ma-bob” or a “what-cha-call-it.” Oh wait, there’s also a popsicle stick. You never know when that might come in handy.

Getting the box containing my new hutch from the car to the kitchen proved to be my first challenge. It weighed a ton. I opened the box and carried in the contents, piece by piece, bit by bit. Once all the pieces were lying on the dining room floor, the real adventure began.  

I took out the instruction booklet and lined up the two million pieces to take inventory. Yes, all the pieces required for assembly were there, plus a few extra screws. I think they must give us a couple of extras so we feel like we got a bargain. Either that or they do it just to mess with our heads. They must get a real charge out of knowing there are people like me who panic when we finally get the thing together and find two extra screws lying around. We scratch our heads and question what step we missed, assuming it must be somewhere between step number 57 and 82.

So now it was assembly time. My first thought was, “Thank goodness for pictures.” But sometimes, it takes me a minute or two to get oriented as to which end is up. For some reason, I often must turn the picture upside down or sideways to fully understand it, but eventually I figure it out. I started at step one and slowly worked my way through the process until I had it completed.   

Somewhere along the line, things started to go so easily that I’ll admit I was getting a little full of myself. I had become a bit overconfident and actually wondered for a moment if I could go without consulting the manual. I totally knew that would be a huge mistake. It’s funny that when my project was rolling along smoothly I might actually think, even for a mere second, that I could put down the instructions and do it on my own.  

As I worked away, suddenly, nothing seemed to line up. The holes didn’t match, and I couldn’t fit the pieces together any longer. I couldn’t seem to complete the next step. Back to the instructions to reread them and look at them from all angles in hopes my mistake would become more evident. It took me a while to figure out what went wrong, but eventually I realized where I had messed up.  

I had missed three significant words, “This side up.”  Words don’t have to be big to be important.

I had actually placed one of the shelves upside down, causing the instructions from that point on to be confusing and inaccurate. It was such a small error on my part, but it had a huge impact. When I went back and reworked the step I had goofed up, I was back on track to complete my project. Due to my little detour, the entire process took me much longer than I had anticipated, but the end result was beautiful.

What do we do when things in our lives stop lining up? We have three choices. We can walk away defeated and do nothing. We can continue on as we ignore the issue and pretend we’re ok with things being shaky, unstable, and off-balance. Or, we go back and try to figure out what went wonky and try to fix it before charging ahead and making a bigger mess. That third choice may take us a little longer, but getting it right is always worth it in the end.  

So, let’s compare my little hutch project to God’s much more important project…us.

Of all the professions or trades available to him, I love the fact that Jesus was a carpenter. He understands blueprints, plans, and directions. He understands foundations, building materials, strength, weakness, and where reinforcements are needed for our lives to line up. We may be able to find a way to complete the project, but it will never be as the creator had intended it to be without help and instruction from the designer. Why do we need God’s help to show us which side is up? Because some assembly is required.

Wishing you joy and peace,

Lorrie

 The LORD will fulfill His purpose for me. O LORD, Your loving devotion endures forever.  Psalm 138:8

My first attempt at getting certified as a scuba diver was a bust.  I had been on a trip to the Bahamas and was telling a friend of mine about my snorkeling experience while we were in line at the coffee shop.  As we chatted, another patron behind me engaged in our conversation.  He asked me if I had ever considered getting certified as a diver.

I told him although I had been snorkeling since I was twelve years old, scuba was off the table for me due to my server claustrophobia.  His next question to me was thought-provoking.  “Have you ever tried?” he asked.  I had to answer him honestly that I had not.

It just so happened he was a scuba dive instructor and offered me an opportunity to check it out in the local navy base pool.  He had the gear, and I could decide for myself how I felt when submerged in twelve feet of water.  He suggested I go ahead and do the PADI scuba course online, and he was willing to sign off as my instructor.  From there, he would allow me to try a dive there in the pool where he taught the confined water portion of the PADI course.  I accepted his offer, and we made plans to meet there at the coffee shop the following week to review the first couple of chapters of the course.  

The course was straightforward, and I completed it with a few questions here and there.  As I completed the course work, we met the next few Saturday mornings for about an hour so he could sign off the chapters as I completed them.  I should say now that his teaching style was probably not a good fit for me.   I quickly picked up on his aggressive style.  But I figured if I was interested in getting certified, I should seize the opportunity as I lived in a small desert town, and he was the only one there who taught scuba. 

A few weeks later, with the course work completed and signed off, the time had come to meet him at the pool.  It was time to see if this was something I could actually do without feeling the panic and anxiety of my claustrophobia.  I will admit I was pretty nervous about the whole thing.

No, I was super nervous about the whole thing.

There were a couple of times back there at the coffee shop when I asked him a question and he was demeaning in his response.  I assumed I had poor communication in asking the question, so I kept at it until I understood his explanation.  I definitely had my concerns about his abrupt nature, but I dismissed his bad behavior as him being busy or having a bad day.  Although, it was unfortunate, as I was paying him for his instruction.

When I got to the pool, he was already there getting gear out of the storage area.  I had my personal mask and fins and set them next to the pool.  The dude was all business.  The minute I walked into the pool area, he started barking orders and yelling at me from the other side of the pool.  The gear that I was going to use was sitting on the side of the pool; he pointed to it and told me to set it up as he walked away.   There was no help and no instruction.   So, I just stood there looking at the gear, unsure of what to do.  I had no idea.  A few minutes later, he came back around the corner and yelled at me again to set it up and get in the water.  I felt like I was going to cry.  I had never seen or touched any of this gear.  It was not only embarrassing, but it was humiliating. 

A minute later, a guy swimming on the other side of the pool quietly came over.  He was soft-spoken, kind, and gentle.  He didn’t touch the gear but started giving me step-by-step instructions on how to do it, which I followed easily, by the way.  Just as we were finishing, my instructor came back.  He looked at the pool guy and said, “I’ve got this.”  But the pool guy wasn’t intimidated one bit.  The guy calmly told the instructor he didn’t like the way he was speaking to me, so he wanted to give me a little help. 

Oh gosh. So now we had a situation.

As luck would have it, the guy in the pool was a Navy Seal.  I’m pretty sure he was more than capable, and quite confident. I’m also sure he could have easily taken care of the instructor and his attitude problem.  My instructor quickly picked up what the Seal was putting down.

With the instructor in check, the seal went back to finish his laps on the other side of the pool, and we continued the lesson.  And… it was still awful.   It was so horrible, in fact, that I never had a minute to figure out if I was claustrophobic under the water.  I was too busy trying to stay inside the two swim lanes as instructed.  Learning about buoyancy and how to control your body with 50 pounds of gear attached to it for the first time is hard enough, but at the same time, he yelled at me repeatedly to stay out of lane number three when I uncontrollably floated into it. 

I stayed and completed the lesson but was ready to go when my time in the pool was up.  Interestingly, the navy seal remained in the pool area until we were done.  He never said another word.  He was just there.  I will be forever grateful. 

I did not finish the scuba course with this instructor, and I did not get certified at that time.  I also did not get my question answered.  I still had no idea if claustrophobia would prevent me from getting certified as a scuba diver.

About five years later, my friend and her husband talked about getting certified.  I told them my story and asked if I could take the certification class with them.  They were going to take the course over four consecutive Saturdays out of town.  It was about a two-hour drive from home, but it wasn’t a bad drive, particularly when going with people whose company I thoroughly enjoyed. 

It was a completely different experience.  The classwork was fun and non-stressful.  There were eighteen hours of academic work, a combination of home study time and class time, and ten hours of pool work there at the store’s pool facility. I had let the instructor know about my claustrophobia concerns and told him I was hoping I could complete the course, but I was unsure.  This instructor had worked with other students who shared my situation and had found a way to help them.  He was confident we could work through it, which we did.  The claustrophobia did rear its ugly head a couple of times, but it was manageable.  In the end, the three of us walked away with all our requirements completed except for our four open water dives.  These we chose to complete in Cancun a few months later.  (Another story for another time.) We returned home from Cancun as fully certified PADI divers. 

I find it interesting that although my goal to determine if I would be able to dive or not was the same in both situations, the experiences were completely different.  One was horrible and the other delightful. There are many circumstances in our lives where there are multiple paths to our goal.  Sometimes our failure isn’t in choosing the correct goal; our failure is in choosing the correct path to get there.  

Wishing you joy and peace,

Lorrie

“Plans fail for lack of counsel, but with many advisers they succeed.” – Proverbs 15:22

“I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my loving eye on you.” – Psalms 32:8