notesbynora

The question caught me off guard. It came in a cafe off Broadway Street over a shared bowl of Thai Noodles. Jimmy Buffett’s “Margaritaville” echoed in the background as I breathed in. Why do I love God?

I’ve developed a friendship with someone who practices Hinduism. We’ve been very careful to avoid conversations about our beliefs and only shared our love of people and helping others. With her permission I am writing this blog.

The psalmist David loved God. He loved just being in the presence of God and when he didn’t feel God, it bothered him to the point of grief. King David made many mistakes but despite his downfall, he held on to a remarkable faith and God honored him. Psalm 27:6, “And now shall my head be lifted up above my enemies round about me; in His tent I will offer sacrifices and shouting of joy; I will sing, yes, I will sing praises to the Lord.”

Shadrack, Meshak, and Abenigo stood before the fiery furnace and proclaimed in Daniel 3:16-18, “King Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. ¹⁷ If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and He will deliver us^[a] from Your Majesty’s hand. ¹⁸ But even if He does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.” 

But even if He does not…my friend’s point was of the Christians she knows, there seems to be a love based, not on who God is, but what He can do for them. The phrase, “I am blessed,” annoys her. What if you weren’t blessed? Would you still love God? Aahhhhh…

I shared with her scriptures that have comforted me through many dark days:

1 Peter 5:10, “And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace,who has called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.”

Romans 12:12, “Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer.”

and my favorite, James 1:12, “Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love Him.”

I love God for who He is. No other god has ever suffered and died for his children. Therefore, I have no belief in any other god but mine. His heart was so filled with love for me that He endured torture beyond comprehension. There is no other love like that in the universe and beyond. The blessings that come from loving my God; the protection that comes from loving my God; the assurance of an eternal life paid on the cross from loving my God are icing on the cake for even if those things were not given to me, I would love my God for who He is.

“But the people I know who claim to serve your God, curse Him when things do not go their way, when He does not give them what they want,” she questioned me.

I smiled just thinking about her words for they are true. It is the best example of unconditional love available. For no matter what we do or what we say, the God of gods, King of kings, Lord of lords, Creator of the universe, loves us anyway.

I love Him even more because of it.

You know it and I know it. The wheel that squeaks the loudest always gets greased first. The complainer, the whiner, the pusher, the puller…whatever it takes to be heard, human beings have bought the “squeaky wheel” phenomena. And most of the time the squeaker gets his way, but not with God.

“He who is slow to anger has great understanding.” Proverbs 14:29

One of the fruits of the spirit, which God clearly indicates are present in true Christianity, is self-control. Many of us want to slip that one under the carpet and choose not to include it in our “fruit salad;” however, God is pretty clear on His instructions about anger. I’ve heard it justified that even Jesus got angry…once…in the house of His Father…over men gambling and selling…so…I can yell and scream at the cashier at Walmart because I had to wait in line. Hmmmmm…

“Understand this, my beloved brethren. Let every man be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to take offense and to get angry. For man’s anger does not promote the righteousness God wishes and requires.” James 1:19-20

Several years ago I was given the opportunity to speak with a gentleman who was born in Poland but spent years in a Nazi concentration camp. At the age of 12, he was sent to study piano in Moscow, Russia. In route, he was imprisoned with several scientists from Russia. A child prodigy of sorts, he was robbed of his opportunity to be a concert pianist by the Germans. He later studied medicine after the war and never returned to Poland because his entire family was killed during the invasion. When I spoke with him, his demeanor appeared slow and languishing and yet his wit was quick and intelligent.  As he talked of his ordeal,the realness of it all felt as if it had just happened; although he was a much older man now. “You are stronger than you know,” he said to me, pointing a finger ridden with arthritis. “Every day other men, scientists by profession, encouraged me with that one phrase. ‘You are stronger than you know.’ Do not allow life and people to make you angry for when you do, you are accepting the way they are treating you.” 

Responding to our struggles and obstacles instead of reacting to them allows us to feel God’s power in our soul. 

Proverbs 16:32, “Better a patient man than a warrior, a man who controls his temper than one who takes a city.”  

Often when I myself feel frustrated, I remind myself, “There is a solution for everything. We just need to find it.”

Be a listener. Put thought in what you are going to say. And through your actions, promote righteousness as God wishes and requires.

^{Isaiah 55:12, “You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands.”}

          ^{My grandmother, Mama Dolly, loved tracing paper, the thin paper that is transparent. She liked it because she thought her hand writing was poor. She would trace quotes and things that she enjoyed in printed form and tuck them away in books and drawers. This particular verse I found today. She had traced it and placed in one of my favorite books as a teenager. The imagery that comes to mind when I read it is of Julie Andrews in the opening Act of the movie The Sound of Music – standing in Austria, above the city of Vienna, twirling with arms outstretched as she sings, “The hills are alive with the sound of music…” But I believe I am missing the point.}

          ^{Mama Dolly used to tell me living within us is a well of joy because of God’s presence in our lives. No matter our circumstances, we can draw from that well and feel secure knowing He is there. Our world flows at such a rapid speed; our minds click with all that must be done, could happen, or should’ve happened. We spend our days longing for something in the past, wishing for more in the future, and beating ourselves up over the “now” that we do not allow the mountains and the hills to break forth in song. We do not hear the trees clapping. But God tells us that they do.}

          ^{The peace that surpasses all understanding can only be found in a God who designed us for a specific purpose and loves us to a depth we cannot fathom. It lives and is ours for the taking but we have to know that it is there.}

          ^{Outside my apartment window there is a giant Poplar Tree in a small park frequented by many on their lunch break. I often see people eating on the benches or dog walkers taking a break. I love to sit and listen to the sounds of people, cars, and general business and feel that the ironed fence surrounding this euphoric dwelling brings serenity. Today I watched the Poplar Tree as its branches moved to and fro with the wind and passing breeze from large trucks as if clapping joyfully for God’s people.}

          ^{No matter what is going on in our lives: heartache, pain, financial struggle, betrayal, our God reaches down and brings a song of encouragement, a lighter step, and an instrument of hope. We just need to hear it.}  

          I first saw her near the Gershwin Theatre between Broadway and 52^nd Street sitting, knees tucked against her chest with her dog beside her. She wore a bandana wrapped around her head and her dog’s wrapped around his neck – matching. What impressed me the most is the dog’s conduct. A large mixed breed, regally perched upright next to her, he was neither hyper or unattentive but assuredly beside her. A note, written on cardboard, rested between them, “Homeless, no job, need help.”

            My daughter Collier is about her age. How easy the two could’ve been sorority sisters had circumstances been different. Many thoughts traveled through my mind and heart. I actually passed her by but then turned back. Who truly knows if she really needs help or finds it easy to make a buck or two this way?

            Just the other day, I passed a group of women with the Humane Society. They were adopting out pets that had come from Georgia! It excited me to talk to them and the links that are taken to find homes for these sweet animals. A pair of Dachshund, a Lhasa Apso, 4 Chihuahuas,and a Bernese Mountain Dog, I had to contribute, especially since they were from my home state! The outlook was good the women told me. They had had over 50 applications that day. Each would be reviewed and hopefully suitable homes would be found. How did so many sweet pets become homeless?

            1 Corinthians 10:31, “So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.”

            I pulled cash from my backpack and returned to the girl and her dog. Saying nothing, I extended my hand toward her. She didn’t take the cash immediately. Her dog looked up at me. She did not. One eye was glazed and white the other seemed to roll freely around in her head, “Oh!” she reached up her hand, “Thank you.”

            I wanted to question her. Wanted to know how she and her dog ended up homeless. I thought of asking why didn’t she live in a mission home or where was her family but in reality, she knows more about homelessness than I do for she is and I’m not.

            Her dog nestled beside her as if to take a break from his watchman’s pose. There was a brown sack of food beside her that maybe someone had left for her. As I turned to walk away she asked me, “How can I pray for you?” I don’t recall anyone ever asking me such a question. Many have said, “I will pray for you…but never how?”

            Soli Deo Gloria – it is one of the few phrases I remember from my Latin class, although I had an amazing teacher at Dublin High School.  Literally translated, “glory to God alone” meaning  it’s all about God.  I often have to remind myself of this truth, usually on a daily basis. The reality of life is,  whether we like it or not, our lives are not about us. Easy to say but to live by it,  is a different story. Life is really about the ways we can live for God.

            My Dad has an amazing voice. One of my favorite songs that he sings “My Tribute” contain the words, “Just let me live my life, let it pleasing Lord to Thee, and if I gain any praise, let it go to Calvary. To God be the glory, to God be the glory, to God be the glory, for the things He has done.”

            “How can I pray for you?” Her words impacted my soul more than any sermon or devotion I’ve read in quite some time. I’m not sitting on a sidewalk in New York with my dog and a cardboard sign; yet, she wanted to pray for me. I actually wanted to sit down beside her and her dog and talk but time would not permit it.

            “The voices of a million angels, could not express my gratitude. All that I am and ever hope to be, I owe it all to thee.”

             In all that we do, in all that we say, allow us to represent you, Lord, and pass the glory to You.

         It is strange to fathom. I can’t even comprehend the words, but I’ve been told I have a FULL DAY OFF. My memory does play tricks on me, but I don’t remember the last time someone told me I had a day off. What does one do with a full day off?

          My daughter Dory started a list immediately. She had 45 minutes before she needed to be transported to the studio. You can exercise, go to that coffee shop, get a pedicure, have lunch with your friend, then you can…but I stopped her.

          Most of our lives are spent doing exactly what we want to do. We like to protest to such statements but realistically we work because we want money. We clean and decorate because we want a nice home. We mingle with friends because we enjoy them or we want a higher social standard or we need reinforcement. We cart our children from here to there because we want to keep them busy, give them opportunities, keep them out of trouble, or help them make friends. But when do we do exactly what God has in store for us to do?

          I decided to go to my garden musician. Meditation is good for the soul and his music warrants such. Surprisingly, he wasn’t there – maybe he had the day off too. It was then that I noticed a missions home. Earlier in the week, I tripped on the sidewalk trying to walk like a New Yorker and a person who runs a missions home close by stopped to help me. So I went in.

          He recognized me immediately.

          “I have the day off if you need some help,” I offered.

          A homeless shelter/half-way house for people who live on the streets, it reminded me of a place I’d been in Guatemala. Children were scattered about. Several women sat against the wall on a long wooden bench.

          One of his volunteers had called in sick. “Perfect time to stop by,” he said with a wink, “We are taking the kids to the museum today. Will you join us?”

          So much for my day off … and yet I bet it will be divinely orchestrated and therefore perfect.

John 15:5 “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in Me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from Me, you can do nothing.”

On my walk to the Joffrey Ballet Studio every morning at 9:15, I pass a garden, enclosed by a 7 to 8 foot black iron fence. It is triangular in shape and filled with exotic plants that make seeing inside all but impossible. The area has become a mysterious dwelling for me, and my curiosity runs rampant wondering who owns it. There is a tree, Japanese maple, which grows in the center of the garden and under the tree sits a man in a stadium chair, playing music. He doesn’t sing. He doesn’t collect money; for even if we wanted to throw money, it would be lost in the thick jungle-type vines that grow on the fencing. No, he plays for a different reason.

It is sad, whimsical at times; sometimes, it is rejuvenating and spirit filling. The acoustic guitar resonates above the sound of the moving cars and the bustling of people. It flows through the crowds, enveloping us, inviting us to stop and hear.

I stood and glared through a peep hole in the vines, wondering who could be playing such beautiful music and why? His hair is brown with a slight curl, his skin light but darkening from the sun. He wears shorts and flip-flops and a safari type hat… but the music is mesmerizing.

I sat on the pavement with my back to the fence, not wanting to leave but tired from standing. When 10:00am rolled around, he stopped in mid-song, disappearing into the building which serves as a blockade to anyone wanting to enter the sacred dwelling.

Not far from where I was sitting, a lady began gathering her belongings, “Who is he?” I asked.

She paused only for a moment before walking over to where I was. “I have no idea. I’ve been coming here every day to listen to him for the past two weeks. He plays every day. Even in the rain.”

“Even in the rain?”  

Maybe he plays to God or a long lost lover. Maybe he is in therapy to overcome anger issues. Maybe he is a famous musician hiding from the public. Maybe it is none of my business the reasoning behind what he does; maybe I’m just supposed to enjoy it.

As I started my walk home, I decided not to take the subway. I wanted to think about God and people. Why we do the things we do… I’m a believer that God took time to create every life-form on this planet. Each pedal is counted and placed strategically for our enjoyment and every color of rose chosen to glorify Him. The Bible tells us that He calls the names of the stars in the sky and knows the number of hairs on our heads. The spider’s legs are shaped perfectly so that it can climb and weave its web. The songs of the birds vary because the combined singing must bring harmony to His ears. This world, intelligently designed, is a beautiful place made for us to enjoy by the hand of God.

The familiar quote entered my mind, “Stop and smell the roses.” When I think how many sunsets I’ve missed, new leaves budding on the trees, mountains gleaming in the distance, or light shimmering across a lake.  The butterflies I’ve overlooked or the smiles from people I ignored. I wonder if we all should just stop what we are doing and lavish the beauty of nature.

My grandmother, Mama Dolly, used to say, “Stop and smell the roses and while you are at it, pull a few weeds!”

I think she had the best idea.

Joe’s Café is just around the corner from StarBucks in Greenwich Village; a nice “home-like” atmosphere with  tables outside to enjoy the morning light. After taking my laundry to the sweetest little lady down the street who cannot speak a lick of English but makes the clothes smell sunshine fresh, I decided to stop in and read. At 7:15am Joe’s is quiet, and there is one particular table that I like because I can see the street in either direction.

I’m researching the civil war for a ghost writing project I will embark in August. While I will be representing the Confederacy, I am currently engaged in a book about the Union. Important to know both sides, I reason.

She sat at the table next to me, joking that I had taken her favorite spot. “Well, if it’s your favorite, why not join me?” I responded…and she did.

We talked about New York; where we were from; why we were here. She said I didn’t sound southern. I told her I try not to.  After asking why, I responded, “Because most people think southerners are illiterate.”

“Well, you’re reading,” she replied, gesturing towards my book, “So I guess that speaks volumes for you.” We laughed.

We discussed whether Obama would have a second term and the economy in Greece. We laughed about pigeons and their thoughts of the city and reminisced about an old Disney Movie that had Doberman Pinchers in it who assisted a couple of bank robbers. What happened to that movie?

I told her about hearing the gospel singers in Time Square and how it rejuvenated my soul. She asked me about my faith; she shared hers. When she had finished her cup of coffee and some sort of Danish, she left a tip for the waiter, thanked me for our conversation, and left.

“How do you know her?” the waiter asked me as he cleared away her plate.

“Who?” I responded.

“Ellen. Ellen DeGeneres.”

The silence that followed answered his question. “You didn’t know you were having coffee with Ellen?”

“Maybe she was just a look-alike,” I murmured to his condescending eyes and shaking head as if he could not believe I could be so ignorant.

I’ve spent the last few hours wondering if indeed she was Ellen and  had I known, what would I have said? Probably that Finding Nemo was my all time favorite and Dory’s phrase, “Just keep swimming, has inspired me on many occassions.” I often use it as a mantra when I need encouragment. Autographs are just too intrusive, so I know I wouldn’t have requested it.

She didn’t say her name was Ellen but neither did I say my name was Nora.

…we simply shared a cup of coffee and maybe that was what we both needed at the time.

I love to be challenged, not in a competitive way, more in a personal way. Challenged by God to give more, to learn more, to see more, to listen more, to understand more, to hurt more…yes, to hurt more.

A friend of mine recently lost her husband in an automobile accident. I say recently although it has been 1 year and 8 months. She requested I clean out her husband’s desk. He kept it under lock and key. The key was attached to his car key chain. No one ever touched his desk.

His clothes had been donated to Good Will months ago; his many books to the local library; his ties to his best friend and golfing partner; but, the desk remained in a mysterious, somber, silent state in his office attached to the garage. She had placed the key in her jewelry box.

Her instructions to me, “If you find anything that could disparage his image in my eyes, will you destroy it?”

“I won’t find anything,” I whispered.

“If you do, give me your word. I cannot accept he wasn’t who I thought he was.”

“You have my word,” I stated confidently, “but I won’t find anything. He was as good as it gets.”

We all experience doubt – doubt in ourselves and in those we love. It is almost a defense mechanism to prepare us for hurt. Raw, open wounds are just too painful, and the inevitable scars that are sure to come from those wounds are the visible symbols of why we doubt.

She left her house not to return until I texted her “all is clear.” I must admit as I inserted the key and turned the lock, I silently prayed, “Please be who we believe you to be.” Sudden death gives a person little time to cover up messy tracks. Were you an adulterer? Maybe a gambler? Did you harbor a past of which she is not aware? A child from another relationship? Were you an international thief?

I tried to imagine why he would have this secret world locked in a drawer. Who does that? A rational person would have to conclude that there was something very bad in the drawer. What could be good?

As I pulled open the brass handled drawer, my eyes fell quickly on its contents – filled with cards and gifts- every anniversary covered – jewelry he had found in his travels with sweet notes attached. My favorite was a pair of sterling silver Hershey’s kisses earrings with the words written on a card, “I found these in Pennsylvania 3/11/07 and thought what a perfect gift for my lady on our 25^th.”

I laughed aloud and cried all at the same time. Of course! Always the planner, why wouldn’t he have such a secret drawer of treasures?

The night of Christ’s arrest and later crucifixion, His followers must have felt so defeated. Everything He’d promised defied – everything He was about held in the limp, lifeless body covered in blood and despair. He was their God, their savior, their deliverer. Even though He told them Sunday was coming, that word, that insecurity, that hurt filled their souls. Doubt must have consumed them. There was no rejoicing but complete resolve – their King was dead.

Ahhhh, but Sunday came.

Faith is challenged and learned only when our doubt wants to consume us but we do not allow it. There is no obstacle, no problem, no struggle, no pain that God cannot handle. It is our unwaivering belief that He is in control and will turn it for good that buries our doubts and builds hope in the possibilities ahead.

His arm is long enough, strong enough, comforting enough, gentle enough, and secure enough to rescue us  from any situation in which we find ourselves.

Believe…your Sunday is coming.

          There is something about New York that is different from any place I’ve ever been. It is a beat, a rhythm that resonates along the streets, questioning who you are – challenging you to fit in. There is a walk that distinguishes the New Yorker from the tourist, almost instantaneously. Even the dogs on their leashes strut in like fashion.

          It isn’t hard to master once the ebb and flow connects with your feet and the pavement. I felt it when the gait finally kicked in and a person stopped to ask me for directions. “Ahhhh,” I thought, “I’m walking like a New Yorker!” It was about the time I stepped in a pothole and fell. Although I didn’t hear the word “tourist,” I’m sure it was uttered by someone.

          When I was in my early teens, my best friend Laurie Vinson and I used to ride our bicycle-built-for-two all over Sea Island, Georgia. Laurie had shorter legs than I did, so I took the front and she took the back. The front was hard to steer, which forced me to concentrate so that I did not hit an acorn and have the two of us sailing over the handle bars. It wasn’t so much the injury that concerned us as the appearance of a bicycle accident. We were one acorn away from total humiliation, if the right person was looking. No, I kept my eyes on the pavement, scanning for possible wipe-out disasters. We rounded a curve on the sidewalk and found ourselves face-to-face with a six year old boy on training wheels. He swerved left, I swerved right. He made it in the clear; I hit an acorn and flew over the handle bars.

          There is always someone or something lurking in the shadows to throw off our “walk.” Always some unexpected pothole or acorn thrown at just the right time to make us feel derailed. It is usually at a time when we are trying our hardest or putting forth our best efforts.

          In the Bible, several men are mentioned as people who “walked with God.”  Enoch, Noah, and Abraham are some who visibly walked with God on a daily basis. In my morning prayer I often ask God to place each step that I take in the direction He wants me to go. So, where do the pot holes and acorns fit in?

          The more I study the Bible I have come to realize that life here on earth is actually preparation for eternity. This “earth journey” is the cover page and table of contents – the chapters begin when we cross that finish line. We are here to learn compassion, empathy, obedience, trust, submission, forgiveness and humbleness. Those pot holes and acorns are tools to redirect us and allow Him to use us for a much bigger plan of which we are totally unaware.

          Surprisingly, that pothole, on the streets of New York? At the time I tripped, I was actually talking to God wondering where He was in this big city of millions of people. I guess He answered me. Five people stopped to help me, one of whom runs a missions home for people who live on the streets.  

          Asked and answered.

        My Dad had a red Ranchero back in the early seventies. He bought it about the time we moved from the only home I’d ever known to a colonial styled 1906 two-story brick, in desperate need of remodel, on 20 acres. “Chapter 3,”  as my Dad liked to call it  He paraphrased life changes as if writing a book. (The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, for I do as well). 

          We were waiting in the driveway for a herd of Dairy Cattle to arrive one muggy summer night in 1973. I was sitting on the edge of the bed of the truck listening to the bullfrogs sing when he uttered, as if delivering a soliloquey, “You know bug (my nickname), every seven years something difficult happens in a life and it changes us dramatically.” He paused as if in deep thought and then walked away, leaving me to wonder what he meant. As I’ve grown older, I’ve found there is truth to his words, at least in my life..

          Seasons, Chapters, Cyclical Rotations, Redefining stories, whatever term one might use to describe the process, unexpected changes are an inevitable voice in everyone’s life – sometimes by choice and other times arriving as unexpected as a violent storm.

          That’s where I find myself today in my life. Ending a very long, tough season. Oswald Chambers noted, “Faith is deliberate confidence in the character of God whose ways you may not understand at the time.” I’ve often wondered if Chambers meant to say “change.”

          Many of us find ourselves in unchartered waters at times. Over the last few months I randomly murmur at any given moment,  “Ok Lord. Here I am…now what do I do?” A family home burns to the ground; a car accident takes a life; a marriage of 26 years ends; the nest becomes empty; the job of 15 years terminates; it all finds us standing in the middle of the grocery aisle, wondering, “What do I do now?”

          It isn’t so much the depth of the heartache or the adjustment of lifestyle as it is the direction of movement – and movement must occur. Somedays I have counted the steps I made the entire day and written them in my journal just to prove I actually made it through 24 hours. I’ve found the people in my life that I appreciate most are those whose words are neither cruel nor nice but real. And while change is daunting, scary at times, and painful, it can be positive if given the opportunity to be by those who are experiencing it.

          What my Dad failed to mention to me however is how we deal with the changes of our lives, probably because there are no clear cut answers.  Job put it best in 29:3, “By His light I walk through darkness.” 

         That rod and staff is not just for comfort, sometimes it is the only thing left to grab…and I’m holding on tight.