The Death of Signarama

September 27, 2016September 27, 2016 / Anne (Grace is my Superhero) / 3 Comments

It would be in the cool of the evening when Chris and I would slip out to walk together, by ourselves. This was a special treat. It is hard to get time alone to talk and even harder to leave the house without some tag-alongs when you have 9 children. I hadn’t been up to walking much in the past year, being pregnant and then recovering from having a C-section. In the weeks following my surgery, Chris had encouraged me to walk with him. It was spring and the weather was so lovely…but I wasn’t feeling up to it, and the truth was…I was afraid. Afraid that I would be too tired to make it very far, afraid that my large incision would hurt and feel like it was busting open. The truth was, I was fighting the sorrow of having a C-section rather than the natural birth I had dreamed of, and I was still so very tired.

Chris kept pushing me out of my comfort zone (like he always does) and practically forced me to start walking.

“We will just go around the block and we can always stop and go back if you get too tired,” he wisely coaxed me.

So it began. First just a short walk up the street and back, then around the block, then to the elementary school, and the all around the neighborhood. The children got used to our nightly outings after supper, and older ones took care of the younger ones back at the house.

Chris and I got the glorious opportunity to clear our minds in the cool evening air. We would talk about our day and the children. We were drawing closer to each other, and I could feel the depression lifting off of me. I also thought I saw it lifting off of Chris as well. He had been struggling the past 3 and a half years. Almost four years ago was when we had purchased Signarama, a small sign shop down the street from our house.

We didn’t have experience in the sign industry, and we didn’t have a lot of start-up capital, nor was anyone willing to give us a loan or a decent line of credit. This was one of Chris’ big dreams, and we were crazy enough to take the leap into the unknown, believing that God had led us.

Being a business owner had taken a toll on Chris. I had watched him begin with excitement and work hard. I had watched that excitement diminish as he faced challenge after challenge. He continued to fight and work hard month after month, but many days he had to fight through depression just to keep going.

In the midst of the struggle, we saw that God was working. He saved us from having to close the doors three times. We would get to the point where we had no more money to continue, could see no way out, and then God would do something miraculous. Singarama would remain to make signs for another day…and Chris would keep on fighting.

All through my pregnancy, time in the hospital for the C-section, and my slow recovery; Chris and I were both worn out, battling depression, and weary of fighting. The business was failing again.

Yet when we took our walks together, we discussed all of these things and the weariness would lift a bit. We enjoyed walking down the tree-lined streets and looking at the beautiful older homes in our neighborhood, each one unique and full of character. Then we would follow a path through green rolling hills and marvel at the colors that the sunset had painted onto a perfect sky.

The fact that all this majesty was found in a cemetery didn’t diminish it, but rather added to it. The headstones had their own sublime beauty in the light of the setting sun. Some were old and others were very recent. Some had statues of angels…

others were without any embellishment at all. But all of them represented a life that had been celebrated by those who were left behind. They were a memorial of the death of one who was loved.

How fitting for us to be walking among these gravestones as we discussed the death of Signarama.

During the long days of fighting for Signarama, having to close the shop had felt like the worst possible thing that could happen.

Yet as we discussed the inevitability of shutting down the business for good, we realized that this was not the worst possible thing. We had lived alongside others who had endured much worse. One guy had to sell his business because he and his wife were getting a divorce. Another man was watching his fiancé slowly die of cancer. Three marriages close to us had been shaken because of unthinkable betrayals. Even in these tragic circumstances, there was always the hope of Christ.

Thankfully, all we were facing was the loss of money. Our marriage had been strengthened through the trials. Our children were healthy and happy. Our baby had not died but lived because of the C-section. We were so blessed!!!!

Of course we weren’t just discussing the loss of money and the loss of our livelihood. We were discussing the loss of a dream. The loss of a big dream that we were hoping would lead to the fulfillment of many other dreams. A big dream in which we had invested everything we had for the past four years!

Admitting that this dream really was dying was also admitting that we had heard God wrong. That He really hadn’t wanted us to buy Signarama in the first place. Perhaps we had made a huge mistake and had gone woefully off course, wasting our time and money, moving backwards rather than forwards.

Or perhaps God really did speak to us, but we just misinterpreted what He was saying. Wow, we had seriously misinterpreted! In fact, we had no idea what He was doing right now, or what He was going to do! We admitted to each other that we didn’t know much of anything anymore.

How incredibly freeing that was! We could surrender to God’s will, even if that meant losing everything we had wanted and worked for…because we knew that He was still good and that He still loved us. We could surrender our “knowledge” and trust in God’s superior wisdom.

The possibility of Signarama being lifted off of Chris’ shoulders gave him a hope that he hadn’t had in a long time. Perhaps he could finally be free of all the responsibility and the hassles and the long hours.

There was so much sorrow in the defeat and failure, yet there was so much hope as well. The death of something always means the birth of something new, and new was exciting.

I began reading Me, Myself, and Bob by Phil Visher (the creator of Veggie Tales) during this time, and what a comfort it was to me! Phil had a big dream like we did. He had a huge success, and then the most colossal failure! The grand scale of his failure sure made me feel better about our own. But what was really striking about his book was the fact that he was actually THANKFUL for his failure because it brought him closer to God.

During some of his darkest hours, Phil was listening to a recording of a sermon and the preacher said, “What does it mean when God gives you a dream, and he shows up in it and the dream comes to life, and then without warning, the dream dies? What does that mean?…It may mean that God wants to see what is more important to you – the dream or Him.”

This set Phil on a path to find God, to walk with Him as the men of old did. Noah was able to fulfill the dream of building an ark after 500 years of walking with God. Phil realized that during the frenzied years of “Veggie Tales”, his life was about working hard to meet deadlines and putting out new shows and new products. He had spent very little time listening or seeking the voice of God. It took failure for him to realize that, “the Christian life wasn’t about running like a maniac; it was about walking with God. It wasn’t about impact; it was about obedience. It wasn’t about making stuff up; it was about listening.”

Phil also said, “God has taught me to focus not on results, but on obedience. Not on the destination but on the journey. He loves you even when you aren’t doing anything at all. We really shouldn’t attempt to do anything for God until we have learned to find our worth in Him alone…and God is enough for you. But you can’t discover the truth of that statement while you’re clutching at your dreams. You need to let them go. Let yourself fall…and falling into God’s arms – relying solely on His power and will for your life – that’s where the fun starts. That’s where you’ll find the ‘abundant life’ Jesus promised – the abundant life that doesn’t look anything like evangelical overload. The impact God has planned for us doesn’t occur when we’re pursuing impact. It occurs when we’re pursuing God.”

“Let it go. Give it up. Let it die.”

I heard of the voice of God speaking to me through those words.

Chris and I still prayed for a miracle for Signarama.

No miracle came.

So we let it go.

We gave it up.

We let it die.

We gave up on all we had been working and fighting for, and decided that God was enough for us. If all of this time and struggle had no other purpose than to bring us closer to God…than it had been worth it.

It was still hard to walk through the process and navigate through all the questions.

How will we tell our employees, our investors, our creditors?

What will Chris do for work?

What will we do for money?

How will be pay our bills?

(Here is a beautiful song that described what we were feeling; The Unmaking by Nicole Nordeman.)

We had been stripped down to the essentials and these truths became clear –

Our lives are about knowing God.

The only dream that matters right now is knowing God more.

When we seek Him, we will find Him.

So the death of Signarama became the beginning of a new life of walking with God.

Oh Nards!

September 18, 2016September 18, 2016 / Anne (Grace is my Superhero) / 2 Comments

You know when something unexpectedly horrible happens and your immediate response is to let out a loud expletive? Well, mine is, “Holy CRAP!”

I don’t mean to say it. It just comes out. My teenage son is quite offended by it and constantly reminds me that, “crap is NOT holy, Mom!” I heard Bill Johnson say that if we really understood the holiness of God, we would never pair the word “holy” with the word, “crap.”

My young children sometimes exclaim, “Holy Crap!” when they are upset about something, and I admit that it sounds very uncouth and disrespectful…and they learned it from listening to me!

Ok, point taken! This is not what should be slipping out of my mouth at inopportune times. I should have better sentiments in my heart to express.

That same teenage son began to say, “Oh nards!” He would say it very loudly with a smile on his face because it is such a humorous phrase.

I adopted “nards!” as my “swear” word of choice. Whenever something annoying or dreadful happened, I would exclaim, “OH NARDS!” It was so fun to say and so funny to hear that I would burst out laughing. I would amuse myself to the point that the disaster no longer seemed so disastrous. (As Joseph Garlington says, “If it’s going to be funny later, it’s funny now.”) The children would begin laughing as well. My husband would chuckle at me and shake his head, wondering what had gotten in to me.

I continued this, “Oh nards!” business for months before I thought, “Perhaps there is some significance to this word that God would want to speak to me about.”

I looked up “nards” on Google and found that it is short for spikenard, a plant used for medicinal purposes. It is antibacterial, anti-fungal, and anti-inflammatory.

It is also the star of that beautiful Bible story in John 12 when Mary pours the pure nard on the feet of Jesus and the entire house was filled the fragrance of the perfume. The story (or perhaps a very similar but separate story) is also told in Matt 26.

Now while Jesus was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, a woman came to him with an alabaster jar of very costly ointment, and she poured it on his head as he sat at the table. But when the disciples saw it, they were angry and said, “Why this waste? For this ointment could have been sold for a large sum, and the money given to the poor.” But Jesus, aware of this, said to them, “Why do you trouble the woman? She has performed a good service for me. For you always have the poor with you, but you will not always have me. By pouring this ointment on my body she has prepared me for burial. Truly I tell you, wherever this good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.”

It was clear that Mary loved Jesus deeply and wanted to demonstrate her gratitude and worship. Perhaps she had planned this act, weighing what it would cost her to do so and judging that the cost was worth it. Or perhaps she was so overcome with emotion that she impulsively grabbed her most precious possession and poured it out. Either way, she deeply touched Jesus and ministered to Him just days before His crucifixion. She had made a choice to lavish her love on Him despite what it cost her.

When the unexpected happens in my life and I shout out, “OH NARDS!” it is not quite the same as Mary. When the child drops dinner on the floor or the teenager leaves the bathroom a mess or UPS has Chris work his 3^rd 14 hour day, this is not my choice. These circumstances have been forced upon me, and I have the right to be angry!

Don’t I?

What if I would make the choice to accept the circumstances with joy and worship God anyway? Then perhaps my, “OH NARDS!” could be turned into the alabaster jar of Mary, ministering to Jesus with my love.

I read one article on the internet that spoke about the extravagant amount of nard that was poured out, probably 11 oz. Anyone who uses essential oils knows how strong they are. A few drops is all you need. The fragrance of 11 oz. would have been enough to be noticed for quite a distance around the house. If Jesus was to wash in a pool right afterwards, a thousand people could wash after him and leave with the expensive aroma.

Imagine all of that nard being absorbed into Jesus’ skin. He must have smelled like spikenard for days! Jesus did say that Mary was preparing him for his burial. I always thought he was just speaking about the symbolic of the use of herbs in burial customs. Days later when he was betrayed, arrested, abandoned, beaten, put on trial, ridiculed, whipped, and crucified…

I bet Jesus still carried the aroma of spikenard! In His darkness hours, He smelled like perfume. All who came in contact with this simple, poor man from Nazareth would catch a whiff of this very expensive oil. As the people watched Him take the accusations without fear or anger, they could smell Him. As they watched Him patiently endure suffering, they noticed the unusual aroma. It was the fragrance of a King, not a common man. It was a heavenly smell in the midst of tragic circumstances.

This smell of pure nard would forever be imprinted on their brains as the smell of the most unusual trial and execution they had ever seen. For the rest of their lives, whenever they would catch a whiff of it, they would remember. Maybe God could even bring them to the place of faith, recognizing the King and Savior Jesus in the form of a beaten and bloodied criminal.

When I encounter trials that make me want to cry out in disgust, “Why all this waste?!!” perhaps I should worship instead.

When my husband is suffering with an excruciating headache for a week, unable to work or participate in much of normal life, my mind starts to say;

“Why couldn’t this have been a vacation from work to enjoy camping as a family? We won’t get to take that vacation now. Our budget only works if Chris is working. How long will it be before he can start working again…days, weeks, months? We are not even sure what is causing the pain or how to get rid of it. I hate to see him suffering! What a waste!”

I have come to know God better than that. Nothing is wasted in His kingdom. He can use any circumstance for our good and for our promotion. I can trust Him and worship Him in this.

For all of us, this pure nard should remind us that in the midst of suffering, we can love and worship. And when we worship we release the distinctive aroma of our King…and the atmosphere of heaven.

OH NARDS!

A Really Bad Hair Day

September 2, 2016 / Anne (Grace is my Superhero) / Leave a comment

“Why did I even start this? Why? Why? Why?”

I was reprimanding my reflection in the mirror. One third of my hair was curled and the rest was straight. I looked at the curling iron in dismay. I never did know how to use that thing! That is why I rarely attempt to curl my hair. Why did I think I should do it today, when I was already running late for the Women’s Encounter at church, the one time during the year that I can leave my busy household behind and seek God with hundreds of kindred spirits?

I had gotten my hair cut a few days ago…six inches of dry, damaged ends gone! I felt like a new woman! The hair dresser curled my hair and said, “This is the way they are styling it these days.” I looked at myself in the mirror and thought the curls looked a little haphazard and choppy.

“I’ll go home and fix it the way I like it, and it will be fine,” I thought to myself.

But when I arrived home I got quite a reaction from my children.

“I like it!” my teenage daughter said, and she made me think that I certainly must look trendy!

“You look pretty, mommy,” my boys said, and they almost never comment on my appearance!

My husband also gave my compliments that night, so I felt that the curls must really be something special.

Before the Women’s Encounter I had washed my hair and dried it with a circular brush as usual. It looked really nice that way, straight and shiny. But was it as cute as the curls that had earned so much praise from my family? Probably not!

So I began to try and recreate what the hairdresser had done.

Bad idea!

I was doing a horrible job on my hair! I was supposed to be at the church early to greet the women coming in the doors, and here I was, still at home with part of my hair in awful curls. I had no time to wet it down and blow dry it out again. I had to just finish the curling.

“Why, oh why did I start this mess? My hair looked just fine before!”

I couldn’t stop, so I proceeded to curl and spray, curl and burn myself, curl and mutter and groan, curl and get mad at myself (and anyone else who entered the bathroom)…and curl some more.

Finally I had a head full of funky, crispy curls. This was not “me” at all! They looked weird, but I didn’t dare run my hand through them for fear of disrupting the delicate hold of the hairspray and make it worse.

I rushed to gather my things. My family could tell I was grumpy and tried to encourage me, but I wasn’t having it! I rushed into the van and drove the five minutes to church. I didn’t get to participate in the preservice prayer that would have most certainly centered my thoughts on Jesus. I should have been praying for all the women attending! I should have been there early to greet some of them. But I had been too vain and concerned about my appearance to listen to the voice of reason that said;

“Put the curling iron down!”

Because I arrived at the church so late, I couldn’t find a parking spot. I had to park all the way in the overflow lot which was quite a hike from the church. I slammed the van door and started trudging up the hill, mad at myself. It was unseasonably cold that April night, but I had stubbornly worn my new flip-flops because I wanted to feel “comfortable.” Now I was freezing my little pink toenails off!

I got halfway up the hill when I realized that I had left my phone in the van! I had to walk all the way down and all the way back up again, madder than before.

Finally I got into the sanctuary. Worship had been going on for a half an hour already. The room was darkened and the colored lights around the stage were flashing with the music. It was packed full of women from front to back. Where was I going to sit? Thankfully someone had saved me a seat up front. I set all my stuff down and turned my heart to the Lord.

“I am so sorry that I am so imperfect!” I said to God. My faults flashed in my mind, and I was getting ready to repent of them one by one when…

Whoose

I felt Jesus rush in and give me a hug! I couldn’t even begin to list what I had done wrong before He said to me, “I am so glad that you are here! I love you! All that you are worried about doesn’t matter.”

What an amazing feeling to be so loved by the Creator of the universe! I tried my best to quiet my thoughts and just soak in His embrace. The worship team was singing about supernatural love, over and over again. This was a supernatural love! I marveled at this love that could allow a perfectly holy God to come down and embrace imperfect humanity.

How was He able to draw so close to me? Then my thoughts turned towards something the pastor had said the Sunday before. He was referring to a burial shroud traditionally thought to be the actual one that had been wrapped around Jesus’ body when He was laid in the tomb. It showed that He had been covered with blood from head to toe; that precious blood that allowed God to come and dwell with and around and INSIDE of us! If we believe in that blood and accept it, He no longer has to withhold Himself!

The blood of Jesus that had covered Him from head to foot now covers me from head to foot! He has made me holy! There is nothing I can do that His blood can’t cover if I will let it.

In the midst of a grumpy, “bad hair” day…or in the midst of a no-good, awful “from the pit of hell” day…the moment we do one little thing right and turn our hearts to worship God…

God rushes in to embrace us and fill us to overflowing with His beautiful presence.

I still don’t understand this.

It is simply supernatural love!