Grace and Forgiveness

I have been honored to serve again as a ruling elder and as an active member of the Session. As part of our duties, we have been participating in a book discussion. We read and discuss a chapter or two each month. The book that we are reading this year is Real Followers: Beyond Virtual Christianity: A radical quest to expose the pretender inside each of us by Michael Slaughter.

This month, we are focusing on chapter 5: Experiencing the Power of Amazing Grace. Slaughter begins the chapter by saying, “As a follower of Christ, we are not accepted by God because we are right or good. We are accepted by God because we are forgiven.” He goes on to explain that nothing we do can win God’s favor. This is unlike the world we live in today. Our culture values looking a certain way, achieving a certain status, and continually one-upping each other. God, however, does not. Each of us is valuable to God simply because He created us in His own image.

God then gives each of us the “power to hurt or to heal, to bless or to curse.” I normally consider myself to be a kind person, but this challenges me in my every action with others. Unfortunately, sometimes I’m guilty of treating those I love the most, the worst. But I’m their wife, or mother, or daughter, or sister, or friend! I should treat them the BEST. I strive daily with lift up each member of my family. I never want my husband and children to doubt the love that I have for them or that God has an incredible plan for our lives. I’ve recently begun texting my husband each morning, telling him either how I appreciate something specific about him or something he’s done, or I may share with him the prayers I made regarding him that day. I make a concerted effort to spend time alone with of my children daily, verbalizing my praises, hopes, and prayers for them. I would hope to be known by family, friends, and coworkers as a person who consistently lifted up others—healing and blessing them.

Lord, I am wonderfully made in your image, and for that I thank you. I ask that you help me see others with the beauty that you see in them. Please give me the ability to choose to heal and bless others daily. Amen.

While I feel like I am moving in the right direction in the quest to heal and to bless, I am hugely challenged by Slaughter (and God!) with the other big idea in this chapter: forgiveness.

Yesterday morning on the radio, I heard that when the recently elected Pope Francis was chosen, he said, “I am a sinner.” That simple quote hit home with me. We are all sinners, yet we are all forgiven simply through Jesus’s death and the grace of God. I am so unworthy! I am a sinner! Maybe it’s difficult for me to comprehend this gift of forgiveness because it’s so hard for me to forgive others. I can hold onto a grudge for years. I remember perceived slights and rude comments for months. I would say that I forgave someone, yet I definitely would not forget. But does that mean that I haven’t actually forgiven?

C.S. Lewis said, “To be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you.” I’ve been pondering this for a while now. Does this mean that when someone hurts my feelings, that I have to remain silent? Does this mean that I always turn the other cheek? Where exactly is that fine line between standing up for yourself and forgiving the inexcusable? The only answer I’ve been able to surmise is that it’s better to be on God’s side—the side of forgiveness.

Lord, I thank you for your gift of amazing grace! I truly don’t deserve it. Please give me the power to forgive the inexcusable in others simply because you’ve forgiven it in me. Amen.

Happy Eleventh Birthday, Katie!

Today is the eleventh birthday of my firstborn. It has been such a wonder to watch her grow and learn these past years. She amazes me daily. She is a very talented artist (which makes me crazy jealous), a natural musician (she gets that from her mama), a whiz at math (she definitely doesn't get that from me!), a caring big sister, and a sympathetic friend. More than one of her teachers has described her as a "happy-go-lucky" girl. I am so proud to be her mother.

I would assume that it's quite natural for a mother to reflect upon each of her children's births on their birthdays. Several years ago, I attended the New Jersey Writing Project of Texas, a three week course devoted to making writers out of teachers, and I wrote a piece about the story of her birth. I pulled it out  today and reread it, and I decided that now would be a perfect time to share it with her. Here is that story:

The Miracle That You Are

You woke up last night around midnight. I dragged myself out of my warm bed and through the dark house into your nursery. I silently cursed Mother Nature for awakening you with her thunder and lightning.

You were sitting up, rubbing your eyes, and I reached in the crib to comfort you. Our hands brushed one another as we blindly searched for your pacifier, lost among the sea of blankets.

I tenderly picked you up, and I could feel your body relax as you nestled your head into my shoulder. I sat down and began to rock slowly back and forth, back and forth. My fingers twirled and swirled through your soft, down curls, and I considered the miracle that is you. You’ve only been on this earth for sixteen short months, but you’ve been with me for an eternity, quietly waiting in the wings until it was time to make your grand entrance.

Everything you do is done on your terms alone, and your birth was no exception. I awoke one chilly Wednesday morning and struggled to roll myself out of bed. When I did rise, you had a surprise waiting for me. I yelled to your dad that my water had broken and rushed to call your nana, my doctor, and to find a substitute. My mind was a hurricane of conflicting thoughts and feelings. I was partially in denial that by the end of the day, I would be a mother. I was in shock and awe that your birth, which I had been anticipating my entire life, would be imminent. I was nauseous by the uncertainty of what might lay before us.

You weren’t due for five more weeks! Didn’t you know that you didn’t have any clothes yet? The car sea wasn’t buckled securely in the back of the Honda. It wasn’t even out of the box yet! And didn’t you know that I was just really beginning to enjoy having you inside me to share all of my innermost secrets?

I took a shower while your father frantically packed my bag that I was intending to pack that coming weekend. I traced the paths of water droplets flowing down my bulging belly and wondered about you. I would soon meet you, and all of my questions would finally be answered. Were you a boy or a girl? Would you look like me or like Daddy? What color was your hair? Did you even have hair?
I said a quick prayer to God. I had been praying this exact prayer every day of my pregnancy. “Dear Lord, please let the baby be healthy and have a long, joyous life. Amen. P.S. Please give this baby a normal-sized head.” 

I felt the first painful contraction while the car was rounding the curve from I-30 to 75 downtown. As we walked into the hospital, your dad, ever the comedian, was teasing me about the trail of amniotic fluid that showed my path across the parking lot. 

Everything that happened on January 16, 2002, seemed to be happening simultaneously in slow motion and in warp speed. There were the dilation exams, the enema, the Pitocin, the vomiting, the epidural, the worries about a possible c-section, and finally, it was time to push. Dad made one final bet with Dr. Jordan that you were a boy, and I secretly prayed that you weren’t. After demanding the TV channel be changed to something other than “Wheel of Fortune,” I began to push.

At 7:12 pm, I felt my abdomen cave in as you entered the world. Dr. Jordan exclaimed, “It’s a girl!” I closed my eyes and smiled. Daddy cut the cord and Dr. Jordan brought you to my side so I could see your precious, perfect face. 

“Oh my God, Tim! She looks just like you,” were the first words I spoke as a mother.

I watched the NICU nurses check you over and pronounce you tiny but healthy, all 5 pounds, 2 ounces of you. I could see your miniature fist extending over the side of the bassinet as if you were reaching for me, reassuring me that you were right there, wanting to be held, just as much as I needed to hold you.

You never cried this entire time.

The nurse placed you in my arms. I checked you over and marveled at the fact that you had no eyelashes or eyebrows. I gently caressed the satin skin of your minute, balled fist. I thought you would curl your slender dancer’s fingers around mine, but instead, you opened your hand wide. I traced the microscopic lines and rivers crossing your hand, and speculated about what life would bring you. You had the absolute softest skin I had felt. I wondered how long your skin would stay so unweathered by life’s elements.

Your blue eyes focused on mine, sending an electric spark through me. I instantly felt that recognition of meeting a long, lost friend on a crowded street. I knew everything about you even though this was the first time I held you.

“Hello, Kaitlyn Elizabeth. I’m your mommy,” I introduced myself, though no introduction was needed.

Last night when the rain finally stopped, I carefully placed you back in your crib, covered your growing body, and thanked God for the miracle that you are.

Culmo, Family of Three

Happy eleventh birthday, sweet girl! We love you so much. 

Saving CeeCee Honeycutt

“Oysters are a lot like women. It’s how we survive the hurts in life that brings us strength and gives us our beauty.”

In my quest to find new reading material, I stumbled upon the website of a fellow Texas educator, Julie Ballew. There she listed many books that she enjoyed reading. I jotted down her recommendations and headed off to the local public library. One of the books I came home with was Saving CeeCee Honeycutt by Beth Hoffman. What a sweet, endearing book. I simply loved it.

CeeCee Honeycutt is a twelve-year old young lady living with a flamboyant, possibly "crazy" mother. When tragedy strikes, CeeCee is sent to live with her Southern relatives. This book was a fast, easy read, and characters were quite relatable. This book is a beautiful combination of The Secret Life of Bees, Steel Magnolias, and The Help. CeeCee learns a great deal about Southern Hospitality. Here's how she describes it: "…I realized that Southern hospitality not only came from the heart but was a practiced social art that had been passed down from one generation to the next—like fine silverware or china. Southerners had a way of doing things that made you feel special." (p 263) I totally agree with her sentiment. Having spent lots of time with family in Georgia, I know firsthand how diligently Southern ladies and gentlemen "work" to make visitors feel important.

The idea that I loved the most from this novel was the metaphor of each person having their own "Life Book," which is explained here in this conversation between CeeCee and her beloved neighbor, Mrs. Odell: “Life is full of change, honey. That’s how we learn and grow. When we’re born, the Good Lord gives each of us a Life Book. Chapter by chapter, we live and learn.” 

“But, Mrs. Odell, I’ve never even heard of a Life Book.”

“It’s not a book you can see or touch. It’s a book that’s held deep within your heart. It’s guarded by your spirit.”
“My spirit?”

“Yes,” she said, smoothing a loose strand of hair from my face. “When a chapter of your Life Book is complete, your spirit knows it’s time to turn the page so a new chapter can begin. Even when you are scared or think you’re not ready, your spirit knows you are.” (p 41)

The women that CeeCee encounters through her own Life Book give her lots of wonderful advice and share their own wisdom with both CeeCee and with the reader:

     “Oysters are a lot like women. It’s how we survive the hurts in life that brings us strength and gives us our beauty.” She fell silent for a moment and gazed out the window. “They say there’s no such thing as a perfect pearl—that nothing from nature can ever be truly perfect.” (p 255, Momma)

     “Don’t go wastin’ all them bright tomorrows you ain’t even seen by hangin’ on to what happened yesterday. Let go, child. Just breathe out and let go.”

I knotted up the corners of my mouth and nodded. “You’re so wise, Oletta.”

“People is wise ‘cause they get out in the world and live. Wisdom comes from experience—from knowin’ each day is a gift and accepting it with gladness. You read a whole lot of books, and readin’ sure has made you smart, but ain’t no book in the world gonna make you wise.”

     “Everyone needs to find the one thing that brings out her passion. It’s what we do and share with the world that matters. I believe it’s important that we leave our communities in better shape than we found them.

“Cecelia Rose,” she said, reaching for my hand, “far too many people die with a heart that’s gone flat with indifference, and it surely must be a terrible way to go. Life will offer us amazing opportunities, but we’ve got to be wide-awake to recognize them.” (p 101 Aunt Tootie)

My reflections after reading: I've heard it said that there is a feeling worse in God's eyes than hate. It is  indifference: when a person has no emotion at all, good or bad, towards someone or something. Is is worse to be a bully or to be a bystander who lets bullying occur? What can each of us do today that will move us from being mere spectators and into action?

If I had to write about my own "Life Book," what events would I say shaped me? 

That's all from me today. Happy reading! :)