I gave up on perfection a long time ago. It was a conscious decision made while at a studio selecting photographs to purchase. There were ample shots of Monique, then a toddler, calmly striking a pose for the camera. However, the one that caught my eye, the one the photographer assumed I'd toss, was my first choice. The close up revealed a Cheerio in her mouth.
"I've got to buy this one, " I said, "Otherwise, I might forget I put Cheerios in her white eyelet purse so she would have a snack in case we had to wait a long time before taking the pictures." Apparently we had to wait long enough for her to get hungry, but not long enough for her to finish eating.
I'm not sure which I prefer, the photos in the albums which are causing my shelf to bend, or the stories behind them. I just hope never to have to choose.
But it's not just photo albums which evoke our favorite memories. Mention Disney World, or Powerade, and a member of my loving family will tell you about the time this tired mother practically stumbled to a concession kiosk in that Magic Kingdom to buy a specific drink for her thirsty, yet picky child. Unfortunately for me, there were witnesses as I blurted out, "Boo Powade Peese."
And travel down Airline Highway to an intersection which was once the location of a fried chicken restaurant. A large sign, meant to entice customers, boldly proclaimed, "Tastes just like Mama's."
My children thought they were really funny when they cringed and cried out, "Oh, no, that place must be terrible! Please, mama, never take us there!"
Even shampoo bottles cause me to turn down memory lane to remember the day I discovered young Victoria was using shampoo to bathe. When asked why she thought that was okay, she said, "Look at the bottle. It says Extra Body. I thought that meant I could use it for my body, too." She was just acting on her interpretation of the shampoo's claim.
After I finished laughing about the incident, I thought of how many times I've bought something which boasted, "New and improved," "Freshest Flavor," or "Best Value." I even believe in the ability of hair conditioners which promise to take my hair from frizzy to smooth. And it's at this point I question myself, "Do I have at least this much faith in the promises of God?"
I'd love to immediately, and without reservation, answer, "YES!" However, I find it much better to examine my heart, not just for the right answer, but for the truth. Matthew 17:20 records Jesus' encouragement to the disciples that even if their faith in the power of God was as small as a mustard seed, mountains could move.
It's not the amount of my faith, but the power of my God, that makes the difference between success and defeat.
Is my faith perfect? No, but my God is flawless. And I don't need photo albums, or relatives, to remind me of the times He's been faithful to me in the past. Those memories are forever engraved upon my soul.
Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Layers
Recess with first graders during the winter was always a challenge. Whenever the temperature took a plunge, the students ran around the playground, awkwardly trying to balance themselves while wearing extra sweaters covered by bulky coats. Hands warmed by thick gloves clumsily tugged at hats and played with scarves. I sent my own children to school the same way; protected from the cold despite the time it took to layer the clothing.
After spending a few minutes in the bright sun, the shedding process would begin. No longer needing the many layers which they claimed hindered their play, hats, scarves, gloves and coats were piled onto a nearby bench.
Layers. How many have I worn to protect me from the cold? Not from falling temperatures, but from icy stares, a cold shoulder, or a chilly reception. How many layers of worry, rejection, or pride have I put on in an effort to insulate myself? How bundled up am I in my own insecurities? How often has the chance of failure caused me to become frozen in fear? How many barriers exist between me and the people in my world?
Rather than continue to be bound by old habits of self-preservation, I seek to find freedom by taking a lesson from the children. But instead of warming up by running around in the sun (although an appealing idea) I'm going to bask in the love of the Son. The only thing I really need to be wrapped up in is His unfailing love, which according to Psalm 32:10, surrounds me. It's the only layer I need. When the world around me seems to grow cold, I'm going to allow His unconditional love, continued presence, and amazing grace to melt my heart.
Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com
After spending a few minutes in the bright sun, the shedding process would begin. No longer needing the many layers which they claimed hindered their play, hats, scarves, gloves and coats were piled onto a nearby bench.
Layers. How many have I worn to protect me from the cold? Not from falling temperatures, but from icy stares, a cold shoulder, or a chilly reception. How many layers of worry, rejection, or pride have I put on in an effort to insulate myself? How bundled up am I in my own insecurities? How often has the chance of failure caused me to become frozen in fear? How many barriers exist between me and the people in my world?
Rather than continue to be bound by old habits of self-preservation, I seek to find freedom by taking a lesson from the children. But instead of warming up by running around in the sun (although an appealing idea) I'm going to bask in the love of the Son. The only thing I really need to be wrapped up in is His unfailing love, which according to Psalm 32:10, surrounds me. It's the only layer I need. When the world around me seems to grow cold, I'm going to allow His unconditional love, continued presence, and amazing grace to melt my heart.
Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Labels
"Victoria, help me hold this steady so I can label it," I said as I lifted a new Christmas storage bin onto the sofa.
"Of course you're labeling it," she said. "You just love using your Sharpie pen."
Victoria's right. I love to label things. My family has grown accustomed to labeled plastic containers in the cabinets and pantry, but was surprised when I took my trusty Sharpie to the refrigerator door.
"You can't write on that," my husband protested.
"Why not? The drawers are already labeled: deli, crisper, meats. I'm just continuing what Kenmore started."
"Who writes on their refrigerator?" my shocked husband continued. And now we all know the answer to that question. I do. When you open the door to my refrigerator, you will not have to wonder where to find relish, salad dressing, and condiments. It's clearly marked.
Because of this, no one was really stunned to open the dishwasher and find "steak knives," "butter knives," "forks," etc. neatly written in Sharpie black, on the door above the silverware basket. But that's where it ends. I do not label people.
People are not generically, mass-produced products, but divinely created individuals who should never be judged and grouped into categories by others. When tempted to form a critical opinion or predict someone's future based on their past mistakes, I'm reminded of Matthew 7:1, "Do not judge, or you too will be judged." I find it so much easier to recognize bad habits and traits in others, than to admit those same tendencies in myself. Right before I judge someone and assign them a negative label, I stop and take a long, hard look at myself. Then I repent and rediscover God's infinite mercy.
Mercy. It's been defined as compassion towards an offense and if it was visible, according to Psalm 23: 6, you'd see it following me. God's goodness and mercy follow me to mop up my mistakes and show His faithfulness. Mercy lines the tracks I leave behind, and when my children follow my trail, they will see my footprints outlined with God's mercy. They will see how even when my path went through difficult circumstances, sometimes when I chased after things I shouldn't have, God was still there to rescue me when I called out to Him.
So while I will continue to sort, organize, and label my possessions for easy access, I will use my Sharpie to draw the line at labeling people. Instead of seeing faults, may my eyes be open to see the possibilities in others. May I see the permanent marker of God's goodness and mercy following them, too.
Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com
"Of course you're labeling it," she said. "You just love using your Sharpie pen."
Victoria's right. I love to label things. My family has grown accustomed to labeled plastic containers in the cabinets and pantry, but was surprised when I took my trusty Sharpie to the refrigerator door.
"You can't write on that," my husband protested.
"Why not? The drawers are already labeled: deli, crisper, meats. I'm just continuing what Kenmore started."
"Who writes on their refrigerator?" my shocked husband continued. And now we all know the answer to that question. I do. When you open the door to my refrigerator, you will not have to wonder where to find relish, salad dressing, and condiments. It's clearly marked.
Because of this, no one was really stunned to open the dishwasher and find "steak knives," "butter knives," "forks," etc. neatly written in Sharpie black, on the door above the silverware basket. But that's where it ends. I do not label people.
People are not generically, mass-produced products, but divinely created individuals who should never be judged and grouped into categories by others. When tempted to form a critical opinion or predict someone's future based on their past mistakes, I'm reminded of Matthew 7:1, "Do not judge, or you too will be judged." I find it so much easier to recognize bad habits and traits in others, than to admit those same tendencies in myself. Right before I judge someone and assign them a negative label, I stop and take a long, hard look at myself. Then I repent and rediscover God's infinite mercy.
Mercy. It's been defined as compassion towards an offense and if it was visible, according to Psalm 23: 6, you'd see it following me. God's goodness and mercy follow me to mop up my mistakes and show His faithfulness. Mercy lines the tracks I leave behind, and when my children follow my trail, they will see my footprints outlined with God's mercy. They will see how even when my path went through difficult circumstances, sometimes when I chased after things I shouldn't have, God was still there to rescue me when I called out to Him.
So while I will continue to sort, organize, and label my possessions for easy access, I will use my Sharpie to draw the line at labeling people. Instead of seeing faults, may my eyes be open to see the possibilities in others. May I see the permanent marker of God's goodness and mercy following them, too.
Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Getting on the Same Page
Although I'm a planner and list maker, I love when God takes my preparations and launches them in an entirely different direction. This happens most often during the hour I spend each week with the ladies at the Correctional Facility.
I never know who will be in the meeting, or what they will share. Each lady is given the opportunity to read a verse from the Bible they have chosen and briefly discuss its importance.
I'm often amazed when their selections perfectly link to the topic I've chosen. At other times, the Scriptures they read tie together, God drops a story or another verse into my heart, and we go from there. I love it! I enjoy preparing as much as I can, surrounding my plans with prayer, and watching God's plan unfold.
Not too long ago, the best lesson came from an error. As one lady stood at the podium, she announced her verse and waited for everyone to find it. After she read a few words, I watched the group as they turned to one another, looking at each other's Bibles, whispering, and becoming increasingly more confused.
"She's reading something different," someone announced, and we realized her mistake. She simply said the wrong verse, which sent the group to one part of the Bible while she read another.
I quickly used the experience. "How did you feel when she told you to find one verse, then read something totally different?" All agreed they thought they had heard the wrong thing, felt mixed up, and couldn’t grasp what was being read because they were trying to figure out what was going on.
"That's what we do to people when we say one thing, then do another. If we instruct others, then live our lives contrary to what we've taught, it brings confusion. Anything we say after that, regardless of how good it is, is lost. I want to remember this the next time I try to tell my children what to do."
The experience reminded me of the time I called my sister, Ann. "Want to meet me at Waffle House?"
"Sure," she said. "I'll be over in a few minutes." And although I said Waffle House, I really meant to say IHOP. I went to IHOP and sat in a booth where I waited and waited, not knowing Ann was enduring the same experience across town at Waffle House. Not much fellowship happens when you send someone in one direction, then take off in another. Once I realized my mistake, Ann and I met and had a great visit.
And once all of the ladies in the Correctional Facility got on the same page, literally, we were able to listen and learn from the speaker.
Practice what you preach is the adage that reverberated in my heart as I drove away that afternoon. And as is often the case, the lesson was as much for me as it was for anyone else in the room that day.
Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com
I never know who will be in the meeting, or what they will share. Each lady is given the opportunity to read a verse from the Bible they have chosen and briefly discuss its importance.
I'm often amazed when their selections perfectly link to the topic I've chosen. At other times, the Scriptures they read tie together, God drops a story or another verse into my heart, and we go from there. I love it! I enjoy preparing as much as I can, surrounding my plans with prayer, and watching God's plan unfold.
Not too long ago, the best lesson came from an error. As one lady stood at the podium, she announced her verse and waited for everyone to find it. After she read a few words, I watched the group as they turned to one another, looking at each other's Bibles, whispering, and becoming increasingly more confused.
"She's reading something different," someone announced, and we realized her mistake. She simply said the wrong verse, which sent the group to one part of the Bible while she read another.
I quickly used the experience. "How did you feel when she told you to find one verse, then read something totally different?" All agreed they thought they had heard the wrong thing, felt mixed up, and couldn’t grasp what was being read because they were trying to figure out what was going on.
"That's what we do to people when we say one thing, then do another. If we instruct others, then live our lives contrary to what we've taught, it brings confusion. Anything we say after that, regardless of how good it is, is lost. I want to remember this the next time I try to tell my children what to do."
The experience reminded me of the time I called my sister, Ann. "Want to meet me at Waffle House?"
"Sure," she said. "I'll be over in a few minutes." And although I said Waffle House, I really meant to say IHOP. I went to IHOP and sat in a booth where I waited and waited, not knowing Ann was enduring the same experience across town at Waffle House. Not much fellowship happens when you send someone in one direction, then take off in another. Once I realized my mistake, Ann and I met and had a great visit.
And once all of the ladies in the Correctional Facility got on the same page, literally, we were able to listen and learn from the speaker.
Practice what you preach is the adage that reverberated in my heart as I drove away that afternoon. And as is often the case, the lesson was as much for me as it was for anyone else in the room that day.
Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
The Christmas Story
I checked the last name off of my Christmas list, waited for Monique and Victoria to get tired of trying and buying skirts, and even squeezed in a brief visit with my niece Brittany. Next on my agenda: dinner.
"Would you like to start with an appetizer like our Bloomin Onion?" the waiter asked.
Before my daughters could stop me, I answered, "Oh, no, we can't. Every time Victoria and I order one, we eat a few pieces, bring the rest home, and no one finishes it."
"But they are good," Victoria added.
"Maybe you should reheat it. It's just not good cold," Monique said.
"We do have other appetizers," the waiter suggested.
"And we probably have a story about each one, " Victoria answered, causing all four of us to laugh. Victoria was correct. We have many stories, but fortunately our repertoire extends far beyond appetizers. One of my favorites is the Christmas Story.
Life must have looked pretty good to Mary before the angel's visit. Her engagement to Joseph was probably the fulfillment of her dream. Then the Holy Spirit surrounded her, the power of God overshadowed her, and Jesus, the Word in flesh, was implanted in her. Her dream was about to take on incredible new dimensions. The Word inside of her caused her to grow, but not just physically. He changed her plans, and challenged the thinking of those with whom she was in contact.
A few months later, while most of the world was sleeping, she brought forth Life. Because there was no room elsewhere, Jesus, the Light of the world, was humbly born in a stable. The One Who had already changed her was about to shake the community, and eventually the world.
While the story of Jesus' life on Earth begins with Christmas, it doesn't end there. He didn't remain in the manger. Jesus grew, leading a sinless life as He taught, healed, delivered, and loved. He then became the ultimate sacrifice as He willingly died on the cross for our sins.
As this story is told and retold, I am always challenged. Have I made room in my heart for Jesus? Will I allow Him to change me, enlarge my vision, and challenge my thoughts?
Just as in the time of Mary, there are many people living good lives, dreaming good dreams, and making commonsense plans. But do they know the story? The entire Christmas story of the Greatest Gift? Will I take the time to tell them?
Will you?
"Would you like to start with an appetizer like our Bloomin Onion?" the waiter asked.
Before my daughters could stop me, I answered, "Oh, no, we can't. Every time Victoria and I order one, we eat a few pieces, bring the rest home, and no one finishes it."
"But they are good," Victoria added.
"Maybe you should reheat it. It's just not good cold," Monique said.
"We do have other appetizers," the waiter suggested.
"And we probably have a story about each one, " Victoria answered, causing all four of us to laugh. Victoria was correct. We have many stories, but fortunately our repertoire extends far beyond appetizers. One of my favorites is the Christmas Story.
Life must have looked pretty good to Mary before the angel's visit. Her engagement to Joseph was probably the fulfillment of her dream. Then the Holy Spirit surrounded her, the power of God overshadowed her, and Jesus, the Word in flesh, was implanted in her. Her dream was about to take on incredible new dimensions. The Word inside of her caused her to grow, but not just physically. He changed her plans, and challenged the thinking of those with whom she was in contact.
A few months later, while most of the world was sleeping, she brought forth Life. Because there was no room elsewhere, Jesus, the Light of the world, was humbly born in a stable. The One Who had already changed her was about to shake the community, and eventually the world.
While the story of Jesus' life on Earth begins with Christmas, it doesn't end there. He didn't remain in the manger. Jesus grew, leading a sinless life as He taught, healed, delivered, and loved. He then became the ultimate sacrifice as He willingly died on the cross for our sins.
As this story is told and retold, I am always challenged. Have I made room in my heart for Jesus? Will I allow Him to change me, enlarge my vision, and challenge my thoughts?
Just as in the time of Mary, there are many people living good lives, dreaming good dreams, and making commonsense plans. But do they know the story? The entire Christmas story of the Greatest Gift? Will I take the time to tell them?
Will you?
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Gift of LIfe
I don't want anything for Christmas. Well, other than the shelf I asked my son-in-law, Frank, to make for me, there's nothing else I want. And except for that bedside organizer I showed Lauren while we were shopping. "Why do you need this?" my daughter asked.
"I could put my phone there at night. Right now I shove it between my mattress and box spring." She gave me the 'are you serious' look, realized I was, yet wouldn't let me buy it.
"Surely I can find a nicer one than this," she said. Lauren gave me frequent updates of her quest until she finally found one she wanted me to have. But really, now there is nothing else I want. I have much more fun selecting and giving gifts to others, and have found Act 20:35 to be true in my life, "It is more blessed to give than to receive."
If there's anything my children want to do for me this Christmas, I'd like them to donate blood. I've read December is one of the slowest months for blood donations. This is likely due to the hectic Christmas season, and people running around looking for things like cute bedside organizers. I will always be grateful to the people who took the time to donate blood when I needed it, even in the month of December.
Eleven months of chemotherapy often left me in need of blood. I have no idea how many pints of blood and platelets my body desperately sucked out of those plastic bags that hung securely on the metal poles near my hospital bed during that time. Due to the generosity of blood donors: some family, some friends and many anonymous, it was always available.
One night in particular stands out in my memory. I was feverish, exhausted from throwing up, too weak to pick up my hair that was falling out in clumps, and agonizing over my hands and feet that were painfully burnt due to the chemotherapy. Michael took me to the emergency room where I sat in a wheelchair with many others in need of immediate care. Suddenly, I turned my husband and said, “I’m about to faint.”
That whisper took me to the front of the line and before I knew it, the doctor was examining me. She took one look at my pale face and announced, “You need blood.” That night I received the blood products which my body lacked.
Somewhere today, while you are reading this, someone is in need. No amount of vitamins, antibiotics, or superb medical care will take the place of a blood transfusion. Nothing replaces blood but more blood. According to the American Red Cross, only three out of every 100 people are blood donors. If you are one of those three, thank you for your gift. You will never know the lives you've helped.
So really and truly, I would be thrilled if my children passed up the mall and donated blood this week. But if Frank already made that shelf, I will graciously accept it.
Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com
"I could put my phone there at night. Right now I shove it between my mattress and box spring." She gave me the 'are you serious' look, realized I was, yet wouldn't let me buy it.
"Surely I can find a nicer one than this," she said. Lauren gave me frequent updates of her quest until she finally found one she wanted me to have. But really, now there is nothing else I want. I have much more fun selecting and giving gifts to others, and have found Act 20:35 to be true in my life, "It is more blessed to give than to receive."
If there's anything my children want to do for me this Christmas, I'd like them to donate blood. I've read December is one of the slowest months for blood donations. This is likely due to the hectic Christmas season, and people running around looking for things like cute bedside organizers. I will always be grateful to the people who took the time to donate blood when I needed it, even in the month of December.
Eleven months of chemotherapy often left me in need of blood. I have no idea how many pints of blood and platelets my body desperately sucked out of those plastic bags that hung securely on the metal poles near my hospital bed during that time. Due to the generosity of blood donors: some family, some friends and many anonymous, it was always available.
One night in particular stands out in my memory. I was feverish, exhausted from throwing up, too weak to pick up my hair that was falling out in clumps, and agonizing over my hands and feet that were painfully burnt due to the chemotherapy. Michael took me to the emergency room where I sat in a wheelchair with many others in need of immediate care. Suddenly, I turned my husband and said, “I’m about to faint.”
That whisper took me to the front of the line and before I knew it, the doctor was examining me. She took one look at my pale face and announced, “You need blood.” That night I received the blood products which my body lacked.
Somewhere today, while you are reading this, someone is in need. No amount of vitamins, antibiotics, or superb medical care will take the place of a blood transfusion. Nothing replaces blood but more blood. According to the American Red Cross, only three out of every 100 people are blood donors. If you are one of those three, thank you for your gift. You will never know the lives you've helped.
So really and truly, I would be thrilled if my children passed up the mall and donated blood this week. But if Frank already made that shelf, I will graciously accept it.
Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com
Thursday, December 8, 2011
College Nightmares
I smile when one of my children calls me. It happened again as I was ending a conversation with Lauren before sitting down to lunch with a friend. I just had to answer this call from Elise. Well, actually, what appeared on the screen was Lil Lise, a nickname given by a friend and adopted by me because I love it. For some reason, Lil Lise, evokes the picture of the happy one-year-old blonde baby who would stand in the foyer, point to her jacket hanging on the coat rack, and use her big brown eyes to plead with me to take her somewhere. Anywhere. The child just loved to be on the go. Not one to be denied, when her older siblings were involved in an activity, or headed out of the door, she would run after them saying, "Me, too. Me, too."
As soon as I took her call, her sobs stopped my happy memories. "I missed my final," she began. "I thought it was for 1:00, but it started at 10:30."
My heart sent out a quick Thank You to Heaven that although serious, it was not one of the terrible things that race through a parent's mind when a child calls crying. "Email your teacher immediately," I said.
"I already did."
"Then we'll pray. You walk in the favor of God. Let's pray for the teacher to be merciful and allow you to take the exam." Without waiting for a response, I prayed as she wept, then said, "Elise, do you know what it's called when you think an exam is at 1:00 and you miss it because it was at 10:30? A mistake. I've made tons, and your teacher has probably made a couple, too. I'm going to continue to pray that she'll allow you to take the test. Now, set your timer for three minutes while you cry it out. When the timer goes off, dry your eyes, and continue with your day as you wait for your teacher's response."
At that point, it would have been futile to analyze the error. She made a mistake and for rest of her life, or at least the rest of college, she will carefully confirm the time of scheduled events. I just hope that's not the only lesson she remembers from the day she missed her medical terminology exam.
I want her to always call someone when she hurts. Only God knows the number of times I've told a friend, "Don’t try to fix this; just let me tell you what happened." Somehow it always helps when I verbalize what I'm experiencing, and I've often received treasured advice from faithful friends.
I pray she always, always forgives and extends mercy to others who make mistakes. May she respond like her teacher who allowed her to make up the exam the following morning.
And when someone calls her, I hope she always directs them to God, her Father. I believe He always smiles when one of His children calls Him.
Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com
As soon as I took her call, her sobs stopped my happy memories. "I missed my final," she began. "I thought it was for 1:00, but it started at 10:30."
My heart sent out a quick Thank You to Heaven that although serious, it was not one of the terrible things that race through a parent's mind when a child calls crying. "Email your teacher immediately," I said.
"I already did."
"Then we'll pray. You walk in the favor of God. Let's pray for the teacher to be merciful and allow you to take the exam." Without waiting for a response, I prayed as she wept, then said, "Elise, do you know what it's called when you think an exam is at 1:00 and you miss it because it was at 10:30? A mistake. I've made tons, and your teacher has probably made a couple, too. I'm going to continue to pray that she'll allow you to take the test. Now, set your timer for three minutes while you cry it out. When the timer goes off, dry your eyes, and continue with your day as you wait for your teacher's response."
At that point, it would have been futile to analyze the error. She made a mistake and for rest of her life, or at least the rest of college, she will carefully confirm the time of scheduled events. I just hope that's not the only lesson she remembers from the day she missed her medical terminology exam.
I want her to always call someone when she hurts. Only God knows the number of times I've told a friend, "Don’t try to fix this; just let me tell you what happened." Somehow it always helps when I verbalize what I'm experiencing, and I've often received treasured advice from faithful friends.
I pray she always, always forgives and extends mercy to others who make mistakes. May she respond like her teacher who allowed her to make up the exam the following morning.
And when someone calls her, I hope she always directs them to God, her Father. I believe He always smiles when one of His children calls Him.
Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com
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