Anger

It took me almost 30 years to really be comfortable thinking about anger as anything but wrong and bad. It seems slightly unfair because I got a double dose of genetic predisposition towards anger. So I've got a temper and I'm strong-willed, as Mr. Dobson would say. My daughter got a double dose too. In my life, anger and shame become synonymous. The Bible was increasingly valued in my family as I was growing up. Here's the verse that this mind questioned so very often....


Ephesians 4:26
“In your anger do not sin” 

It seemed so obvious to me, even as an adolescent that there was something important here. Few people were ever willing to really discuss this with me. Easy answers or dismissive responses were mostly what I got. Until Gay Hubbard. There was something so freeing to me to hear her value my question and then help me grapple with the complex issue. "Well. Let's look at this head on and see what we can learn."

That was 20 years ago and I'm finally in a place where I can, like Gay, say the same thing. Like most things it's because I've screwed up so many times that I've tried just about every bad solution there is. More, I know  God in a way that helps me understand grace in a way that I am finally amazed by it. I am beginning to study kenotics and the way in which Christ emptied Himself to become human and dwell among us. I have great faith that Jesus knows the limitations of being human and fully understands why anger can be so valuable, when applied well.

As is my habit, I wrote in my head, first, before typing. I've had this marvelous conversation with myself that ended in a belly laugh. I'm fully aware that I'm odd. I've embraced it at this point.  I started listing all of these great organizations that were founded. I asked the question, "why?" Anger.

 M.A.D.D. Why? Anger      

Susan G. Komen for the Cure. Why? Anger     

Suicide prevention groups? Anger     

I heard my self saying, "Anger" with great authority. Suddenly, I saw myself in a lion's suit substituting the word, Courage. That's my favorite part of Wizard of Oz. 

It's true though, anger used appropriately can propel us from horrific loss into new places. I'm thinking about a friend's adult brother who is an alcoholic and codependent on his family. Anger is the best way for them to propel themselves into loving him enough to not allow himself to destroy himself and them. Anger, along with the directions from above, was the motivation that helped me leave a marriage that was destructive to my soul and life.

That's the simple version. I wish it was that easy. It's harder than anything one could ever even manage to be angry and not sin. I know that Jesus understood that. I think that verse is an open invitation to seek His help. I cannot describe how that works because I haven't the foggiest idea. I just know that when I give God a microscopic place to dwell within and have reign in that space, He fills it and does the impossible. If I would just remember and allow Him.

A June Breeze

Every once in a while, I actually remember my previous failures and purpose to do things differently. Strike that. No, that's usually true. What is not true, sadly, is that I'm rarely successful in the follow through. I've got all kinds of excuses and rationales--even some reasons that make me sound wise and wonderful when I've failed in the same way for the 17th time. That's what made today remarkable. I actually remembered how to avoid the failure and followed through. And my egg still broke.

I was so focused on protecting my newly found bird's egg from destruction by my hand, that I did not factor in any other variables. I was contemplating that profound truth that my choices and my actions did matter to this fragile egg. I had the power to protect it or destroy it. I was pleased with this lesson, feeling fed by the Spirit.

And yet, that was only part of the story this morning. The same lovely breeze that was cooling my sweaty body was also the breeze that carried my treasure away. I was shocked when it flew out of my cupped hand. How could I have missed that? Even breezes can carry an empty shell away! Old tapes instantly screamed, "You're so stupid, Lori! How could you have forgotten about the other dangers? You are a failure."

Did I fail? From the standpoint of bringing home an abandoned bird's egg, I guess I could say, if pushed, "Yes, that was a failure." But in the larger scheme of things, does that prove anything about my ability to succeed? No, of course it doesn't. In His ever gentle and loving way, God was teaching me something new today.

Yes, Love, do things differently when you're able. That's such a wise thing to do. Just understand that wind blows and holes are hidden in luscious fields of green grass. People make mistakes and sometimes deliberately break things that you treasure. Trust that no matter the outcome, I am present in the consequences.


Help me remember. And believe.

Fractured Eggs

A few weeks ago as I was stepping out of the van onto the grass just beside my carport and underneath the tree, I noticed a beautiful bird's egg. It was almost blue with tiny brown speckles all over it. I bent down for a closer view. What I loved most was that it was still slightly hinged. I carefully picked up the egg and the final synapse that held the egg together gave way. I marveled at it's size and fragility. I said aloud, "My word, I've got rhinestones on my shoes bigger than you are, Little Egg!"

I looked up in the tree. I could hear the squawks of the bird who no longer needed that home. I found myself transported into a child's world instantly. I wanted to show. And tell. And I did. I took it to lunch and showed it to my daughter and my 9 year old friends and their teachers. (Sidebar: There's always a germ phobic teacher who is just convinced that this one small, something will kill her students! I wasn't gonna let HER look smother my enthusiasm.)  It lost a few more pieces, but once home I carefully placed my treasure in a fake nest I had bought at some warehouse sale months ago. The fake eggs, hot glued to the nest, that originally looked quite authentic, were poor imposters when resting against the real egg, cracked as it was.

I placed it as the centerpiece on my dining room table. I have enjoyed knowing I was paying attention and got to participate in one small part of God's creation. Much more it was a reminder of God's goodness and His tender mercies.

I heard God's voice that day, so clearly. "How much more do I care about you, Love?" (Matthew 6:26)

Fast forward to this past Saturday. Annie Beth, Emma, and I were sitting down with our late dinner sacks of Sonic at the dining room table. Emma, a lover of small things too, assumed the eggs were all fake. She enthusiastically grabbed the tiny egg. With that rather innocent move, she crushed my treasure into hundreds of pieces--the speckles no longer even discernible.

"OOOOOOO Emma!!! You ruined my egg. I loved that egg!", I whined.  It was too late to correct the edge in my voice and the shame I'd shoved into her lap. I tried, nevertheless, to adjust my response and try to pick up the more important shattered pieces of my niece's esteem and heart. She waited until she sensed her "grown aunt" was over her pouting and apologized. I apologized as well for my terrible response.

Today as I walked along a favorite portion of my path, I noticed another broken bird's egg. Same variety. "How great! I'll carry this home and place it in my nest! I'll call Emma and tell her that I found the perfect replacement. This will be a teachable moment." I was still 30 minutes away from home.

I was aware of the fragility of that egg--all too aware of what the wrong move of even a loving, small hand can do to that shell. My focus was on not jarring my large hand. When I crossed a rather busy street I was concentrating on the safety of my egg. The same hand that protected my egg, could also destroy it. All at once the rare June breeze, which I'd thanked God for so many times already, carried that egg out of my hand and it landed on the hot pavement. Because of traffic, I was unable a mere attempt at saving it. It was gone.

I hadn't considered the other risks to my egg. I let it go and asked God to teach me.

He reminded me that the context of His Word spoken to me all those weeks ago was about daily needs: Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Matthew 6:26. 


There was nothing particularly sacred about that first fragile remnant of a former life I found last Spring. It was a sacred moment, though, because God spoke to me and fed me with it that day. He let me know that I am loved and valued and treasured by Him in ways that I cannot fathom. It's a great thing to be reminded of His daily blessings and the food He used to nourish my soul. My little altar on my black dining room table was not a pagan offering. When I shamed a child that I love so dearly because she ruined my treasure, it had become a form of idolatry--unintentionally. How grateful I am that God pointed that out to me. And today, I know that the lesson of the today's fragile egg is an entirely different message than the first. (AND another blog entry.) 


Give us our Daily bread.....Thanks for the reminder, Lord.