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A Proud Yahoo


13 But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. 14 For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep. 15 For this we declare to you by a word from the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep. 16 For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. 17 Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will always be with the Lord. 18 Therefore encourage one another with these words. 1 Thessalonians 4

You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; you have loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness. Psalm 30:11

Today I choose to allow the Lord to turn my mourning into dancing. Mama Carlene would prefer that we dance anyway. I choose to celebrate a homegoing instead of mourning a loss. Early this morning, Carlene Brady, my “boss” when I worked for the Girl Scouts in Chattanooga, passed away. I say “boss” because Carlene was so much more than the director for whom I worked. She was an encourager, an eternal optimist, a swift kick in the tail when I needed it, a listening ear, an unbiased opinion, a word of advice, an example of humble faith, and a loving acceptor of all people. Carlene loved people, even if they were at their lowest point. But she loved them enough to not let them stay there.

I was one of those people that she loved. She loved Queens, YoYos, Yahoos and a host of other groups and people with a wide variety of nicknames and terms of endearment. I am proud to be a Yahoo. At the time, we were a wild and untrained group of complete goobers in our mid-20’s to early-30’s, staunchly refusing to grow up, and working at a summer camp to prove we didn’t have to. We were indecisive, emotional, sometimes irrational, generally impulsive and full of life. Carlene took us like we were, loved us at our worst, and inspired us to be our best.

God blessed me to have allowed me to cross paths with Carlene at one of the darkest times in my life. Looking back now, I can see how my weaknesses and hangups kept me from being able to see past the end of my egocentric nose some days, and I missed out on even greater blessings because of my own issues and struggles. But even when I fell flat and failed, Carlene knew the perfect balance of good natured tail kicking and kind encouragement needed to keep me going. Those three years at camp and one year in the office were a lifeline for me, and they were my saving grace many times. As much as we joked about it being the cause of our insanity, it was really the source of my keeping my sanity. And much of that was due to Carlene.

Many times I’ve wondered why God allowed me to take the job there for such a short time and then mess it up and run away. While I still regret the hows and whys of my leaving, I will never regret the time that I stayed. In that short amount of time, God used Carlene to prepare me for so many aspects of life and ministry.

I hated numbers. Carlene sat for hours and taught me how to make a line item budget for grants and events. She showed me how to plan down to the smallest details for financial responsibility (we accounted for paperclips in one particular grant), and she never got frustrated and did the work for me. Carlene would make me work and rework til I got it right.

I was a “big picture” visionary incapable of follow through. Carlene turned me into a detail-driven event planner and evaluator. I can see it and complete it because she taught me to take the time to ask the hard questions on the front end and cover all my bases and “what if” questions.

I was a judgmental snob. Carlene blew up every stereotype ever conceived about “surrounding counties” and the people that live there.

I HATED working in an office. Carlene sent me to camp.

I had lots of fun ideas. Carlene would sit and let me talk them out til I got them planned out or I shot them down myself.

From teaching Excel to middle schoolers to running an After School program and directing a summer day camp; from writing grants to planning trips and events at school; from managing my time to complete research to coordinating the logistics for a disaster relief supply point, I can legitimately say that not a day of my life in the last 8 years has not involved doing something that Carlene took the time to teach me. I am who I am today in large part because of who she was for me at a time in my life that I desperately needed direction and training.

More than anything else, Carlene taught me how to show love to people. Carlene loved the Lord and she loved people like He does. No faking, no pretensions, no requirements for being loved. She didn’t love you because you became a better person. You wanted to be a better person because you knew you were loved.

Being a Yahoo was one of the first times in my life that I belonged and I knew it. We would get together for Christmas and camp reunions, for cook outs and tanning dates. We lost touch a bit as life moved us in many different directions. But even now, years later, that group of Yahoos can get together like we did tonight and even after months or years apart, can pick right back up like we’ve never left camp. That kind of loyalty and love only lasts when it’s cultivated by a leader who lives it.

There are many things in my life that I’m not necessarily proud of. But I will always be proud to say that I’m one of Mama Carlene’s Yahoos.

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Memories, Hate, Forgiveness and 9/11


So many thoughts run through my head as I think about the 10th anniversary of the attacks on America on September 11, 2001. A few nights ago, I watched the Smithsonian documentary about the attacks, and it was painful and nearly unbearable to watch the images flash across the screen. It took me back to being a scared 21 year old college student who immediately began to reach out for anything steady and sure in a time in which the whole world seemed to turn upside down. Looking back, many decisions I made in the couple of years following were directly caused by the feelings of unsteadiness and doubt that began that day.

I didn’t know much about the Middle East, and I knew even less about the Islamic faith, and ignorance breeds fear and hate. I listened to television preachers talk about God using “the heathen” to judge America for our sin. I heard racist jokes about “towel heads” and watched people suddenly become wary of every dark skinned person they met. I remember my brother was particularly tan from working an outside job that summer and was pulled from boarding line at an airport to be searched simply because of his dark appearance. Apparently his blue eyes weren’t as convincing as his dark skin.

I couldn’t really blame those who responded in ignorant fear; I didn’t have any knowledge to counter their fears.

But one thing that I worked hard to never allow within myself was a close-minded, racist hate of those of Middle Eastern descent. If there is one thing I hate about the stereotype of Southerners is that we ignorantly stereotype others. Arab Muslims didn’t attack America; but a group of people who were Arab Muslims did. Just like many Caucasian Christians have done through the years as well.

In the years since, God has given me a soft heart for those of the Islamic faith. Instead of closing my heart to them, he sent me to Afghanistan to minister to the women of that country. He gave me a passion for learning about them and their culture, and he allowed me to come back to America and begin shedding light on fear and ignorance by teaching those who are willing to learn about those who follow the man Muhammad.

I am praying this weekend that Christians will memorialize those who were lost in a tragic display of hate and deception without further stigmatizing and reflecting the same hate toward all Muslims.

To hate and fear a group of people is to deny the Word, which states, 12 For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. 13 Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm. Ephesians 6

Hating and attacking humanity that perform acts of terrorism (large or small scale, political or personal) is to hate and attack those who are held captive by a spiritual enemy. Would an army ever attack POWs? No, they attack the enemy holding the POWs captive. It’s time to quit attacking the POWs and start fighting the real enemy.

To hate all Muslims for the terrorist acts of a few gives permission to people of other faiths to identify all Christians with those who bomb abortion clinics or protest at soldiers’ funerals or stand on street corners and scream racist and homophobic “sermons” of fire and brimstone. I don’t want to be associated with Westboro Baptist or the Branch Davidian cult, so I choose to not associate all Muslims with extremist terrorists. I do choose, however, to see them as sinners who need a Savior as much as I do.

But being a follower of Jesus is to be a disciple of a radical extremist, per his own words:

You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect. Matthew 5

So this 9/11, I will mourn those who were lost in an unprecedented attack on innocent lives, on our country and the ideals in which we believe. I will mourn the loss of my own idealism. But I will also mourn for those deceived into believing they were completing a righteous act of God. I mourn for those souls lost for eternity, and I will make it my goal to be more intentional in following the teaching of Jude, the brother of Jesus who encouraged us to “save others by snatching them out of the fire; to others show mercy with fear, hating even the garment stained by the flesh.”

And I will celebrate the spirit of renewal and restoration that has been shown in the lives of those impacted by 9/11 in the last decade. We have risen from the ashes of destruction, and the human spirit of survival and forgiveness has shown in ways rarely seen before.

Hate the deceiver, love the deceived. It is, afterall, the kindness of God that leads us to repentance. Romans 2:4

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Amy Winehouse and the Deification of Celebrities


Like so many others in the blogosphere and in Twitterverse, I was saddened over the weekend by the death of music artist Amy Winehouse. She had tremendous talent, but also tremendous scars and pain that she simply could not seem to escape in this life.

I am saddened by the loss, but I am not shocked, as so many proclaimed to be. Her struggle with addiction and her refusal to humbly submit to admitting a weakness, her many failed attempts at rehab, her public meltdowns and relational explosions have been well documented the last few years. It has been painful to watch a human life spiral into destruction through the lenses of the paparazzi. An honest social commentary entitled “Amy Winehouse Dies, Before Our Eyes” was published by Gazelle Emami on Huffington Post on Saturday; it’s a good read for anyone who is concerned about the ever-present self-destructing celebrity.

This is not the first time that society seems to have been shocked by a celebrity succumbing to a human ailment. Shock and dismay were proclaimed in the streets when Michael Jackson died two summers ago. Some simply could not believe that Patrick Swayze could have fallen victim to cancer in September of 2009. But since the advent of movie and television, celebrities have taken on a form of immortality that is rocked at each unexpected death. Look at the impact on American society of the deaths of celebrities like James Dean and Marilyn Monroe.

To believe that celebrities should be somehow immune to the natural consequences of living in a fallen world show that they have become functional gods. To be dismayed that they are “merely human” indicates that, deep down, we believe them to be something more.

Why do we place celebrities in the entertainment world on a deified pedestal? Is it that they possess fame and fortune that we really do desire to be our own? Are they the ones we worship, or does it eventually all go back to self-worship; we worship what we desire for ourselves?

Matt Maher has a song entitled “Flesh and Bone” and in it the chorus states, “I’m dying to believe/ I’m trying just to show/ That we are less than perfect/ More than flesh and bone”.

It is written on the human heart that we are in fact more than mere flesh and bone; we are created in the image of the God of the Universe, the only thing in all of creation for which God felt it necessary to get His hands dirty and then breathe life into us. But just like we are told in Romans 1 that certain things are written on the heart of man as universal Truth, we also have exchanged the Truth for the lie; that the created one can be worshiped instead of the Creator. And the unusual amount of sorrow displayed over the deaths of people we don’t know, people who just happen to have careers that place them in the limelight, display both of these truths perfectly.

We know there is something inherently special about humanity. And we choose to worship the creation rather than the Creator.

So should we as believers approach tragedies like the death of Amy Winehouse? How does one address grief over a life lost too soon while still keeping a check on one’s own heart and focus of worship? Can such tragedies open the door to healthy discussion with the body of Christ concerning the worship of celebrity?

Some questions are difficult to answer, but one thing is for certain, the life and death of Amy Winehouse is a painful real life lesson that choices can have disastrous natural consequences when we choose to worship creation over Creator.

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Encouraging the Weak, Boot Camp Bill Part 2


And we urge you, brothers, admonish the idle, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with them all. 1 Thessalonians 5:14

My friend Tiffany strongly urged me a couple of weeks ago to join her at Boot Camp Challenge. She claims it’s just because she didn’t want to go by herself, which I’m sure is partly true. But she also knows that I’ve been looking for something to do to kick start my “get back in shape” mission and she knew I was up to the challenge even though I wasn’t sure myself.

That is admonishing the idle.

Boot Camp Bill likes me. He told me this morning. Do you know why? He says he likes me because I have focus. I told him that I have to focus when I do the crazy stuff he asks me to do or I would hurt myself. “My right side is weak,” I told him. “I’ve had more knee surgeries than I have knees. I know to focus on technique and build up weight as I go. I’m just not steady on my right side yet.”

“YET!” he bellowed. “That’s the key word: YET! You’re focused, you have a goal and you’re gonna get there!”

That, my friends, is encouraging the fainthearted.

On Saturday, Boot Camp Bill also helped me do these ridiculous ab exercises that I won’t even begin to explain because, he says, we need to train my muscles to know they can do it before they’ll start doing it on their own. Today, I did them on my own.

That is helping the weak.

My first week I couldn’t do the side-to-side ab workouts on that dreaded Bosu ball because my balance was so bad and my core was so weak. Boot Camp Bill let me keep my heels on the ground instead of up in the air that first week because I had a goal to get my feet in the air this week. Guess where my feet were on Monday? That’s right. They were off the ground. Most of the time at least.

And that is being patient with all.

There’s a reason that Scripture is full of athletic illustrations when discussing out spiritual lives. We are the body of Christ, and our spiritual life requires daily upkeep and nutrition and challenge, just like our physical life.

So if you are one who is spiritually healthy, teaching those who are idle, weak, and fainthearted, continue encouraging them! Praise the small victories. Help them set realistic goals. Teach them technique concerning spiritual devotion and then challenge them to go deeper as the simple things get easier.

And if you’re the beginner (or the beginning again-er), take heart and persevere! Do not let early set backs get you down. Don’t give up if you don’t do something the “right way” the first time. Don’t focus on being a mighty prayer warrior; just focus on talking to God daily. Don’t aim for five hours of Bible study each day in the original languages; just subscribe to a daily devotional and read the entire chapter the devotional verses come from. Start small, work on technique and challenge yourself to go deeper as that the things of Christ begin to feed your soul.

What about you? How you begin again when you’ve taken time away from spiritual health? How do you encourage those around you in their spiritual walks?

 

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What’s Your Legacy?


This has been an interesting week at work. Senior pranks took place the same day an old friend came to school to share with my students about a recent trip he took to Israel. There has been a lot of reflecting and remembering taking place in my heart and mind.

The end of the school year tends to do that every year. Seniors are reflecting on their four years and feeling regret and handing out words of advice over missed opportunities and wishes to be able to go back and do more with friends and family.

Today in class we were discussing the recent mischief and one student made the comment he had been thinking about a senior prank since his freshman year and that that he wanted to remembered for something good. Another remarked, “It’s high school. What we do now isn’t going to be remembered by anyone anyway, so what does it really matter what we do?”

Teachable moment. Transparent moment. What do you do if you’re Miss Mason? You tell your kids a story of one the apparently unforgettable moments of high school for yourself.

Senior trip. 1998. After a relatively unremarkable 5 years at the school from which I was a mere three months from leaving, myself and two friends who shall remain nameless decided to buy a cheap pack of Swisher Sweets and sit in the resort hot tub and smoke cigars. We were the coolest 18 year olds alive.

Problem was, we’d signed an agreement stating we would not partake of any alcohol, tobacco or drugs while on a school trip. And we got caught. By the Heads of the History and English Departments. And the High School Principal. It was AH-mazing.

Needless to say, phone calls home were made, many apologies were given, several Saturday schools were served, much repentance and remorse was expressed. The event became a running joke for a couple of years and then we all moved on with life.

Fast forward TWELVE years. I’m at the funeral of  the father of a friend with whom I had grown up and who had graduated from the same school. While standing in the cemetery, a woman who had worked at the school while I went there approached my parents and me. After the standard pleasantries, she asked, with a twinkle in her eye, “So, smoked any cigars lately?”

REALLY? Five years at the school. Multi-sport athlete. President of the Forensics Team. Beta Club Member. I was a member of the Character Committee, for goodness’ sake. “Good kid.” Left there. Received two undergraduate degrees and an M.Div. I’m a teacher, speaker, published author, women’s ministry leader. Sister to three increasingly cool younger siblings. Sister-in-law to two amazing women. Aunt to the smartest and cutest kid in the world. But I am, at least in the mind of that lady, the kid who got caught smoking cigars at Disney World.

Granted, there are worse things one could be remembered for. Much worse. But looking back, that is NOT the legacy I desired for myself at that school, or anywhere else for that matter.

What we do makes a mark on those who are watching us, whether we realize it or not. And we have no control over which choices of ours others choose to carry with them in their minds as our legacy.

So when you are making decisions, no matter how big or how small, ask yourself, “Do I want this to be a part of my legacy? If this is the ONE thing someone remembers me for, am I ok with that?” Because once a legacy is established, once a reputation is developed, changing it can be next to impossible.

Whose legacy are you more concerned with? Your own, or the legacy and reputation of Christ in you? Everyone leaves a legacy trail. Where will yours take the people who watch and follow you?

If you have a legacy or reputation that you may not be proud of, it’s ten times harder to erase that bad reputation. But are you willing to do the work needed to change it, or are you content to just let people believe what they will and conform to their opinion of you?

I pray you are strong enough to prove them all wrong. I may be the kid that smoked the Swisher Sweets at Disney World, but I refuse to allow that to be the legacy I leave on this planet. Hopefully the teachable moment of transparency inspired some of my kids to consider their legacies, too.

What’s your legacy? Would you change it if you could? What if I told you that you could? Would you be willing to put in the work needed to do so?

What do you choose to remember about those around you? Do you choose the legacy of others to be their mistakes or their moments of goodness? How do you want those around you to remember you? Remember to give others the grace legacy you wish them to extend to you.