So You Could Have a Life

We had just finished a nice dinner at our favorite local "let's-grab-a-quick-dinner-before-church" restaurant on a normal, rushed Wednesday night. Joel was still munching his last few pancakes and Ryan and I were discussing the affairs of the day. The election results were fresh and there was a tangible sense of who had voted for whom in the restaurant. Some were discussing (rather loudly) how so and so was going to "turn everything right again" while others were just trying to escape the "noise" of this last election by having a peaceful, quiet dinner. When the last scrap of pancakes had been eaten, we got up to pay the bill and at the same moment, the elderly gentleman at the table ahead of us also rose to pay his bill. On his head was proudly perched his veterans hat, the emblem of the 4th Infantry division stitched in gold lettering across the top. Ryan stopped Joel and said, "Do you know what we say to someone who wears a hat like that?" "No," said Joel, eager to get his hands on the after dinner cookie that this little eatery provides to its tiniest patrons. "We always tell them, 'Thank you for your service'," Ryan replied. "Oh, 'Tank' you for your service." said my little munchkin boy. The older gentleman stood a little closer to my baby and said, "I did it so you could have a good life." I don't know how, but the older man had with those few words and his simple kindness of listening to my little boy chatter about going to Disney soon and that he was three years old, brought tears to my eyes. This man, whoever he was, gets what it is about. He was part of that "greatest generation." He was part of the group that didn't need a "safe place" to voice their opinions and didn't need a trophy for "trying hard." No, on those dark days, he and the rest of his detachment looked the enemy square in the face and did what needed to be done. They did it so we could have a life. They did it so we could go to church freely, speak our minds (albeit sometimes we do speak it rather ignorantly...but we can save that for another post), raise families, and enjoy countless other freedoms. I can imagine that some of them did not see eye to eye with the political beliefs of their Commander in Chief at the time and I am sure some of them "didn't vote for him" (especially since they couldn't vote at 18 till we were WELL into Vietnam--but I digress), but they got dressed, wrote those "if I don't come home" letters, and geared up for the longest day of their life. I googled the 4th Infantry Division, just because I wanted to know, and found some of their engagements. Not knowing exactly which war our dinner companion had been in (judging from his "age" I was thinking he was a WWII guy or perhaps Korea), I googled that division, hoping to narrow down where he had been or what he had done for us. Google informed me that the 4th had seen action in WWI and lost 2,611 men, WWII (including being involved in the Normandy landing) and lost 4,000 men in action, and Vietnam, losing 2,500 men in action. All I can assume is that whatever war he was in, he had tasted the bitterness of the death of a combat buddy. He had faced the agony of pulling the trigger and doing what needed to get done. This was the real deal. This was not a sunshine soldier or the summer patriot...he had done the hard things. I think as a history teacher, perhaps I am more prone to nostalgia or sentimentality on days like veterans day because I know the stories. I know the stories of those guys who hit the beaches at Normandy. So many of them were just boys in reality. Sure they were 18, sure they had completed "training"--but they had never seen carnage like they were about to see. I wept right along with Kurt Klein as he liberated the camp at Ravensbrook in the biography All But My Life. I felt the desperation of Louis Zamperini as he endured the horrors of POW life. I think of my own grandfathers on days like this. I think of my Grandpa Sherm. My grandpa could tell a good story. As a younger girl, I did not love history the way I do now. I did that subject just to get through it. Then, one year, I had the best teacher I have ever had and I discovered that here in the pages of my history book was an endless source of "great stories"--and I could get into that. It was at that time that I realized my own grandparents were a treasure trove of untold stories. So, I remember listening to my grandpa talk...but he never talked about the war (he was a WWII vet). ONE TIME, just once, I got him to tell me what he did in the war. He told me only enough to peak my interest and then he moved on. I can only imagine it was hard for him. But now as a teacher, on the bulletin board in my classroom, is a treasured photo of my grandfather in those days. I keep it there to remind my why I have to keep teaching. It reminds me that no matter what the current trends in education, no matter the changes to the text, I owe it to those vets, to brave men (and women) like my grandparents to tell their story. History is not just about the collective...it is about those individuals (and I would argue that the individuals ARE the story). Without those individual men who jumped into the water to storm the beaches of Normandy, who parachuted behind enemy lines, who trudged through the swamps and marshes in Vietnam--I wouldn't have the beautiful classroom I have today with a Bible happily opened on my desk and an American flag displayed above my white board. I don't know what kind of legacy my generation (according to google I am part of the millennials---not sure how I feel about that--but that is perhaps fodder for another post that I have tried to write five times now but the right words aren't coming out) is leaving behind us, but I am pretty confident we aren't doing anything close to what the "greatest generation" did. Until we "get over" ourselves and start thinking a little more sacrificially, we won't do anything of note either. We can keep sitting around, obsessing about someone's latest status update on Facebook and lament the "state of the nation" or we can attempt to make something of this life we have been given and that someone fought to preserve. I don't think those guys in WWII envisioned a generation of people who struggle to have an intelligent conversation in person but can eviscerate one another over social media without even batting an eye. One thing I can tell you that I plan to do and you should too--the next time you see one of those veterans walking around--stop and thank them. I can promise you, they won't be annoyed that you stopped them. In fact, they will probably be shocked that you stopped them...but do it anyway. Dust off that old history book on the shelf and put yourself back there with the 4th Infantry Division--it might just change your perspective. Thank a veteran today--America is still here, in part because of what they have sacrificed.

Oh Thou That Changest Not

It is fall in Florida. As "fall" goes that does not mean much. It is no longer 80 degrees all day and occasionally you can wear a light jacket...but other than that, it is identical to any other season in Florida. I was driving down the road, sipping a "fall" flavored latte and listening to a new CD I had bought a few weeks ago. The song, "Abide with Me" came on and I took the time to actually listen to the lyrics of the song. If you ever went to church in your life, you probably heard the song, but maybe my church never sang the second verse...but boy it struck me in this season of life. Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day; Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away; Change and decay in all around I see— O Thou who changest not, abide with me That idea..."Thou who changest not" made me want to cry and gave me so much comfort! Lots of things in my life are in a constant state of flux. I took on the weight watchers lifestyle in July and so my whole lifestyle has taken a drastic overhaul. I don't look like I used to (and that is a good thing) and a normal day of eating and functioning has altered. My little boy has changed. Gone are the little snuggles and cuddles. He is constantly running, laughing, getting into mischief that I never could have imagined (he used an entire bottle of lotion up the other day on his legs...he came out of my room and said, "Wook, I have lotion."). I find myself looking at Facebook and realize how much people around me have changed. The opinions and viewpoints of a lot of people I thought saw things the same way I did suddenly don't anymore. It is tempting to say, "Man, everything is changing and I don't love it." However, as the song reminded me...there is ONE who never changes. God never, ever changes. HIS WORD never ever changes. While the world around me appears to change its mind by the minute and hour, I have a reliable, unchanging God. In the middle of the chaos, the uncertainty--there is that one sure anchor for the soul.

Do not grow weary

Dear Faithful Laborer, This morning, my son was walking toward his classroom and he spotted you. On a busy Monday morning, you stopped, you smiled, you showed him love. You didn't have to stop, but you did! He is not one of your "charges" Monday through Friday from 7 am till 5 pm, but you still stopped. Why did you stop and wave to him and make his whole day? Because you heard him say, "Mommy, das my Puggas lady." Translation: Mom, that is the lady who greets me with a big smile EVERY. SINGLE. WEDNESDAY night at Puggles at Church! Thank you, Puggles Lady (yes, I know your name but I think Joel's name for you means so much more) for pouring into my little pint sized church-goer. He has yet to learn all the big doctrines that you and I hold so dear, but because of your efforts every week, he is starting to learn little lessons about the BIG God who loves him dearly. It was in your class that he learned that God made the moon. Doubtless he will not remember the impact you left on his life...but his mom will never, ever forget. Thank you, faithful nursery worker. Every Sunday, morning and evening, you give up your time and energy to be locked in a room with 10 two year olds (more than half of them are boys). You don't complain. In fact, you love on them, feed them too many cookies (because how can you say no to those cute faces), take them outside to play, and cuddle them when they are tired and sad. All the while, their moms and dads are in the service, child-free and able to listen and soak in every amazing word from the pulpit. They get refueled for the week while you pour yourself out for them. You are a blessing and you are never told enough how much we thank the Lord for you. I know there are Sundays where every kid poops, sometimes twice, the room feels too small, three kids have wiped their noses on your pants, and you just think you cannot do it any more. Keep on doing it!!! You are serving an absolutely vital role and each mom and dad can go into service knowing their little munchkin is going to be loved. Thank you, patient Sunday School teacher and children's church worker. Every Sunday you do your best to lasso those two year old boys and attempt to teach a lesson to them in the two-three minute window that a toddler attention span warrants you. Somehow, you have managed to teach them "Jesus loves me" and the nativity story and who knows what else (because often the story gets some toddler re-writes when we ask him what he learned at Church). At the end of the day, if he is already learning that Jesus loves him...well, does it get any better than knowing that? At two years old? All the while, you take time to help us reinforce manners and potty training, and manage to clean up the "accidents" when they don't make it in time. Thank you, faithful PK2 teachers. Goodness, some days you actually spend more hours pouring into my child's awake hours than I do. You are not only teaching A,B,C's and 1,2,3's, but life lessons, Bible truths, and manners. You have taught him his first "before we eat" prayer, most of his toddler songs like Old MacDonald (although his version almost always includes Old MacDonald's farm having a dolphin...but hey, we live in Florida...it fits), and even some science and art. He is always so proud to show us his art and we are still laughing at his performance at the Christmas program (and blushing over his unplanned dance recital at Grandparents Day). We are thankful for you, for being there while we aren't and knowing we can trust you with our precious treasure. Dear workers, whatever ministry God has placed you in, do NOT grow weary. All those diapers you change, noses you wipe, boo-boos you kiss, and tears you dry...they matter! The children you serve may forget you, but the impact you make on their parents does not go away. You are so important to us and we love you. Thank you, thank you, thank you for the energy and effort you put into caring for them. God sees your sacrifice and labor of love...and this mommy is seeing it too! Until next time Amy

A Beautiful Mess

The first thing I hear in the morning is, "Mommy, I get up". Since he has not mastered the fine art of crawling out of his crib yet, he still cannot get himself up in the morning (and I am in no rush for him to figure that out). We scamper into the living room for a quick episode of Daniel Tiger (but only the episode where he goes to the potty or where he tastes veggies because little man knows what he likes and does not like). Yesterday, he was willing to eat the yogurt that comes in the little monkey cup, but today he won't be willing to eat that, it will have to be the yogurt that comes in the pouch. We get dressed and go to the car. He asks for his favorite songs on the radio, which I deny because my only chance to hear anything going on in the world is on the radio going to work (because I cannot stand the talk show host on the radio on my way HOME from work). He fusses at me for 1.5 seconds and then begins the battery of daily questions. "Mommy, I go shoot (school)?". Yes, baby, we are going to school. "Mommy, I see friends?" Yes, baby, we see friends. "Mommy, I see (and then we name each friend)?" Yes, baby, you will see (and I name all the friends). We talk about the "bus shoot" (school bus) as it passes our car window. He talks about his beloved teachers (who's names he still cannot say right so he calls by his own specially created (and totally adorable) nicknames). He asks for a bite of my breakfast (which is, somehow, always more interesting to him than his own). This little ritual is how he got introduced to coffee cake, coffee (black or with cream, he drinks it both ways), cutie oranges, granola bars, and cold cut sandwiches (I know, I have wonderful breakfast eating habits--- come on, people, the title of the post of "beautiful mess"-- you had to see this real world confession coming). I go through my day teaching about World War I during first hour, Cold War during second hour, Sectionalism and Antebellum period third hour. By fourth hour I get a little break and I have time to run my errands around campus and I usually have time to see him on his little playground with all the friends we so dutifully named on our way to school. I can see him running and screaming and jumping and being 10000% boy while he plays (bless his teacher... she deserves a metal). I hurry back to my room to cover my study hall, lunch duty and a final government class before my day ends. After all the students have been taught, my room cleaned (because there is always, always, always 500 little shreds of paper on my carpets by the end of the day), and some grading done, I get to pick him up. Most days, he is busy doing his favorite thing, playing outside, when I come for pick up. I love getting to be the one to pick up because I get the biggest smile from that little man and a screaming "Hi mommy!!" when he sees me. I usually brush the wood chips from his hair (he likes to throw them up in the air in true LeBron James style and for which he also tends to have to sit in the "Finking chair" as he calls it (timeout chair/thinking chair). One day after we got home, I found woodchips IN his pull-up--not sure what he was saving them for... but there they were. Then we are home and the nighttime race begins. In a frenzy of activity (dinner, bath, pajamas, and bed) the evening hours slip by far too quickly. Soon, the house is quiet and I have a moment to reflect. Our life is busy, there is a lot of rushing around on any given day. However, our life is beautiful. I am not talking about our physical life. The house needs painting, the lawn needs trimming, the car is dirty and my bedroom is still the terrible purple color it was when it moved in (6 years ago). The important parts of our life are beautiful. We love each other and we have the most wonderful son anyone could ask for. He is high energy with a splash of naughty... but he is a token of the goodness of God in our lives and to me, that makes him one of the most beautiful children I have even seen. Sure, he has a penchant for mischief (in one week alone he colored on my bedroom door, poured juice on the floor on purpose, and filled Buzz Lightyear's helmet with yogurt which I then had to clean out with q-tips because Buzz is a treasured friend) but he also can be incredibly sweet and loving. However you look at it, our life has a lot of color and a lot of flavor. When I look at it, though, all I can see is something beautiful... and messy. It's just our beautiful mess. Until next time --Amy

Unless I had seen

I find that from time to time, I get stuck on an idea or a concept and I just keep thinking on it, pondering over it and generally chewing on it until I have it all figured out. For the last couple of weeks now, I have been stuck on the goodness of God. In the world we live in, there sometimes isn't a lot of "good" to talk about. Scroll through Facebook sometime and really look at the posts objectively. Yes, there are the "we just got engaged" posts and the cute pregnancy announcements; but more often it is posts pleading for prayer because of loss or a really serious medical prognosis and you just want to close Facebook down and never open that door again. On the other hand, every so often, there is a little glimmer, a little ray in the dark clouds and you remember, HE is good. When all the THINGS in life seems grim...HE is good. Sometimes I think people miss just HOW good He really is. Hang with me here. We get saved and we start to really dig into faith. Then, wham, out of the blue, life gets hard. Not just a little bit... it gets soul crushing, agonizingly, depressingly hard. We run to the Bible, we look for that promise of hope. What do we find, though. We find that God never said, "Just trust in me and all of your problems will vanish and nothing will ever be hard and nothing bad will ever happen to you." If you have found that verse, let me know. Here is what I have seen. Jesus told his followers, "In this world ye shall have tribulation; BUT be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.". Furthermore, we are told that Paul had a "thorn in the flesh"... something that gave him (I am sure) pain and trouble. He asked God to take it away, but God didn't... because HIS grace is sufficient. Now is when the skeptics say, "well, that doesn't sound very good to me". Dear reader, let me say to you that it IS good. Without that thorn, Paul even said, the tendency to be puffed up in ourselves would be incredible. Here is where it gets so good. The writer in Psalms said "I had fainted, UNLESS I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and He shall strengthen thine heart." I can't tell you how many times in my own personal walk where I have come close to "fainting". Another trial, another hurt, another hard time... and yet, there is that verse staring me in the face and I think about the goodness of God. I can't escape it. It is all around me. I wake up in the morning and my eyelids flutter open and I can see the comfortable four walls of my bedroom all around me... the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. A little voice from the other room starts to yell (each time little louder until I respond)" Mommy, I get up".... the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. I roll over in my bed and there is the one person out of the 7 billion that was made for me... the goodness of the Lord. I walk past the memory box we made for our precious babies already in heaven and I rejoice that I have the hope of a resurrection... the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. I walk past my fridge and see the faces of the children of friends that I prayed for, begged the Lord to give to those friends, and there those little cherub faces smile back at me... the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. I see the save the date cards for former students ready to get married, who are choosing to live for God and love God... the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Ok, Amy, that's all well and good, but what about me today? I have suffered loss, tragedy, family struggles, financial woes. I don't feel that goodness. Friend, I totally understand how that feels. I have been there. Some days I am still there. Grief and trials and disappointments don't just go away. Grief, particularly, kind of moves in and never really moves out. It becomes less noticeable, but it is always there. But, grief, no matter how overwhelming, can't erase the goodness of God. Goodness is part of who He is. Even in those times where your heart feels ripped in two, He is still good. He does not promise that all things are good...some things in life, thanks to the curse of sin, will never be good things. BUT HE WORKS ALL THINGS TOGETHER FOR GOOD. That promise... it just gets sweeter the more I read it and think about it. I used to think, before I really knew Jesus as my own Savior, that that particular verse (Rm. 8:28) meant that "for them who love God" things somehow would be easier or less painful or good all the time. Now, I see it. Those things that aren't good in and of themselves like grief and tragedy, they work to make us more conformed to the image of Jesus. More than anything, they cause us to see how good He really is. I don't know what difficulty lies in front of you tonight, my dear reader (all 23 of you), but I do know this. The Word promises that in the Last Times, things will get harder and more difficult. Friends may fail you, even desert you. Being a true follower will probably even involve sacrifice, maybe even persecution. Cling to the truth, in those times, that He is good and His mercy endureth forever. And cheer up, my friend. As much as it may depress you to watch the news and the grim conditions we may see in our own nation and around the rest of the world, God is still on the throne and still looking to save souls. Even in the midst of the evil that we see all around, the goodness of the Lord is there on display. I see His goodness in the truths my son is learning (already) in AWANA and school about God. When he sings, "Jesus loves me..." Well I pretty much turn to mush. Jesus died for that little boy and I cannot wait for him to understand that truth. I see His goodness in the students who got saved this school year and are wanting to learn more. I see His goodness in the couples who are choosing to follow Jesus even if that means saying goodbye to the comfy American life for a third world village. He is good... always, only good. Look for the evidence of His goodness this week.

You have Memories

So this year I decided to download the app on Facebook that notifies you every day about something that happened in years past in your Facebook life on that day in your "history." (I am sure at this point, my personal computer geek, aka my dad, will call me and tell me that somehow this is a way for hackers to track me...oh well, they won't get much out of me anyway). This app is a two-edged sword. On the one hand, the year 2012 is getting increasingly harder and harder to read. There have been a few times already that Ryan has texted me and said, "Don't look at today's memories" and I know to just let that day's memories pass me by. For example, January 2012 was when we started really letting people know that baby Hannah was on her way. Every day, I open my "you have memories" notification box thinking to myself, "How painful is today going to be." BUT, even as that date of May 3rd looms closer and closer, I can't bear to uninstall the app because even in that pain, there is a reminder that it was in that year that I grappled with some truths that I now know beyond all doubt. I learned in that year that it was in that valley of the shadow that I would understand so much more about God and His character and unchanging goodness, even in a world with pain and suffering in it. He remains faithful, good, ONLY good, and ever gracious. Even in the moments where I really wasn't sure how I would be able to push aside the pain and "get through" another day, acting like everything was ok when it really wasn't, somehow, we made it through. Sure there are scars and sure there is still some raw emotion there from time to time, but we walked through that valley and stand on the other side of it now. It was through that loss that my eyes were opened to the fact that I had never really placed my faith in HIS finished work and relying on the prayer I prayed or "doing" the salvation moment correctly. Had we never had that moment in time that left us forever changed, I might have remained forever lost. However, after scrolling through the 2012 posts, there, in 2013 and 2014 are posts about our miracle. Either happy doctor reports that all is well and he is going to be born (we actually broke the news to the world at large over the long MLK weekend...so those good memories are coming) or a smiling baby face eating baby food for the first time, or rolling over, or eating peas or just being the perfectly adorable baby that he is. I am reminded again that joy does come in the morning and weeping only lasts for the night. Now, for us, our "night of weeping" was more like two long years, waiting for our miracle, but joy did come. Joy didn't only come and hang out for a day or two, it made itself a permanent member of the family. Each post from the last two years (with a few complaints about home repairs or traffic in Florida) are bursting with joy. Even my college years posts are preserved on Facebook. Even those, believe it or not, have been interesting to encounter. I either find myself a little embarrassed that I thought people would actually care about what I ate in the dining hall that day or I find myself smiling over posts like "Hey Linny, I accidentally took your printer cable to my house, but I will return it after break. See ya soon." Or I see posts with private jokes (that I actually have long forgotten the real meaning of, because, after all, college was some *cough cough I am old* years ago now) that make me smile, not because I remember the meaning but because of the friendships they represent. There are posts from after I was married but my friends were still seniors, where we set up "dinner at Amy's place (because I had the TV and the cable that they didn't have) tradition." In those college memories I can walk the dorms again, stay up all night to study (don't actually miss that), eat junk food, shop for trinkets, and eat the Chick-fil-A college special for $3.09. While the app has served to make me smile, laugh, remember and reflect, it has also made me thankful. I have been blessed. I have a wonderful life. I have a husband that I have known, in good times and out-and-out bad times, for nearly 10 years. I have a beautiful little boy who delights and, at times, challenges me and all I know about mothering. I have babies I have yet to meet and some I have held, only for a few moments, but who are awaiting my arrival (soon, I hope) in our forever home. There are friendships, preserved for all time on the walls of that app (yes, for all the world to see). The good, the bad, the joys, the sorrows...they are all there. I click "See your memories for today" and suddenly I am 20 year old Amy once again, making college friends, taking too many classes at once, and dating my first real and only love. With a quick click of the mouse (or in my case, tap on the i-phone), I am in my first teaching job and complaining about four new preps while my chili simmers in the crock pot (oh the days when I was first married and I had a crock pot dinner ready almost every day...I am imagining my hubby misses those days too....ha ha). One more swipe and there is a picture of an oh so tiny baby Joel wearing his "My first Thanksgiving" bib and grinning like he still does with eyes twinkling that hints at a pinch of naughty and pounds of sweetness. More than anything, I am grateful that the app does not have (not like it could anyway) a "see your memories of tomorrow" feature. I know that must be why the Lord told us "Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself." Imagine if 2012 Amy knew what May of 2012 held for us. I do not know how she would have carried that burden. Even this Amy, the 2016 version, couldn't carry that weight. I was listening to our Awana director speaking tonight in our club at church to our 3rd-5th grade girls. She was telling a student-aged version of Corrie ten Boom's story (which if you have not read the book on her life...you MUST...go get it tomorrow!!). Tonight's segment was about Corrie's early years as a child and that her greatest struggle was being afraid...for her, it seemed, mostly of death or tragedy befalling her family. Near the end of the story, Corrie's father used a train ride as a teachable moment. "Corrie," he said, "When we ride the train somewhere, when do I give you the ticket to hold?" Corrie's answer was that is was right before the ticket taker on the train would ask for it. That's how it is in life also. God does not heap upon us ALL that life has for us to cope with or enjoy or manage all at once...we could not take it. He gives us the ticket RIGHT when we need it. Oh the truth in that story. Now, ask 2012 Amy if she even wanted to be on train we were on and I am not sure what answer she would give you...but, when it came time to live that day in May in 2012, somehow, we had the ticket and we made it through. Dearest readers (all 23 of you), I do not know what 2016 is going to bring your way or mine. 2016, even though is is a mere 15 days old, has already held joys and tragedy for all of us, I am confident of that. I know there are still those dear friends (and I do pray for you, please know that) who are still awaiting your own miracle baby. Take heart...perhaps 2016 is your miracle baby year! There are others who have no idea which job path to take next, how you are going to pay for college, or how you will ever get your toddler potty trained! Maybe this is the year that will be made plain to you. Wherever you find yourself in this year, remember, we don't need to worry about tomorrow, the ONE who feeds the sparrows and clothes the lilies in the field...HE can manage this year and make it into something beautiful in HIS time. Trust Him to hold the ticket until HE is ready for you to take it. He is a good, good Father. It is Who He is...He is ALWAYS ONLY GOOD. Until next time, AMY

Tree Tops

Thanksgiving break this year came quicker than I was expecting. I am sure there are a couple reasons for the whirlwind feeling that accompanied Thanksgiving this year, but that's a story for another post. Before Thanksgiving could begin, my fellow teachers and I had professional development prior to everyone scurrying away to wherever their holiday plans would be taking them. This year, rather than sit and listen to seminars, our leadership team chose for us to do team building. I have loved all the team building events that we have done before (bowling, laser tag) but this year I was scared to death when our administrator announced we would be doing a tree/ropes course (as in, you are up in the trees, hanging by ropes and completing obstacles). For most, this sounds like a fun day outside, but for me (the girl who has to have her husband get the Christmas tree out of the attic because I CANNOT stand to climb that ladder without my legs turning to mush) it was a terrifying thought. Well, we arrived at the tree course and at first glance, it didn't look too bad (I discovered later that I was looking at the training course when I made my "not too bad" assessment). Well, they strapped us into harnesses and led us to a "training video." In the video, they explained some of what we would be doing and I thought to myself, "There is no way." However, I pulled up my harness, so to speak, and tried out the training course. The training course was probably no more than 8 feet off the ground, yet as I tested out my "skills", I already found myself weak in the knees. This was going to take all my mental fortitude to complete. Once we completed the safety course, the little training girl told me and two others, "Ok, off you go to course 1." We obediently headed towards the first level and looked around us. There seemed to be no one watching us or telling us what to do. Out of desperation, I nominated another person to brave the course before I started my climb. There was no way I was going to be first. I watched her till her had reached the first platform (which was probably only about 15-20 feet off the ground). I grabbed the carabiners off my harness and clipped onto the ladder...there was no going back now. Climb, climb, clip, clip...all the way to the top. "Ok", I told myself, "We are up the ladder and that wasn't so bad." That's when I saw my first obstacle, a suspension bridge of plank boards. It was as though someone had tape recorded my worst nightmares and then created a course to match. SLOWLY, I edged my way onto the planks. "Ok, not so bad", I told myself. By this time, the rest of our little group that had completed basic training (about 10 of my coworkers) had reached the ladder and were making their way into the course. One by one I completed the various parts of the course and finally, I reached the end of course one. However, in order to complete course one and get to solid ground, I had to ride a zip line and then go down another ladder. When I got to the zip line "jump off point", I opened by memory banks and tried to remember all the steps of clipping into the zip line. When, finally, I felt I had it totally right (and after tugging on my harness and the carabiners about 1,000 times to make sure they would REALLY hold me) I pushed off the platform and went sailing along---yelling "Oh, I hate this....Oh this is bad" (I can only imagine how funny that must have looked). When I got to the end of course one and back on the ground, it was time to move to level 2 (there were 5 levels to tackle that day). This was when the "guide" who was helping us found me. "You are going to do course 2 today, Amy!" I wanted to say, "I don't think I can." But I only managed a small grunt. Everyone else had survived level one so I figured I may as well keep going. So, once again, I found a way NOT to be first up the ladder. This course was twice as challenging as the first was. I remember at one point looking down at my guide and asking, "Have these harnesses been tested for weight limits?" He laughed at me and made some kind of joke (which I did not find funny as I was clinging to the ropes with all my strength). It was at this point that the guide became an invaluable source of knowledge. We came to a rope bridge that was made up of a bridge that was twisted up kind of like a strand of DNA. The guide would stand below and yell directions as to how to cross the obstacle. Without those tips, I would have been a goner for sure. Sure enough, when I followed his advice, I was able to cross with speed (which I was happy about). I never looked behind me, but from the giggles and screams and occasional "Ah, I can't do this"...I knew which obstacles my coworkers had arrived at. We reached the mid-point of course 2 with a big barrel that we had to find a way to climb through (in mid-air). I had visions in my body of getting stuck in there, Winnie-the-Pooh-style, but somehow I got in and out of that thing. Much to my surprise, I was able to complete level two, with the help of my guide and my coworkers cheering me on. I was feeling pretty amazed that level two was behind me. Then, I looked at level three and started to wonder if I could finish. But, by this point, I was determined. I climbed the ladder to the top of level three. Phew...this one was higher for sure. I was feeling pretty confident until I got to these swinging ropes of death...it was at that point, I knew, I had reached the end of my time on the ropes course. I yelled for a guide to come save me, and my time was finished. Since I had tapped out on level three, and there were five levels, I meandered my way to the "observation area" to watch everyone else who did not chicken out finish the course. It was a beautiful day and I got to watch some pretty funny stunts up there in the trees. It also gave me time to think. Below are my "take-aways" from my day on the ropes 1. No one can walk the ropes for you and no one can put the harness on for you. Its a lot like life. I HAD to put on the harness--coworkers, pastors, parents, friends--they cannot do it for you. Faith is something YOU have to choose to put on (no one can choose for you...you have to accept the free gift) There are no works involved...the harness does the work...just like faith. You put your full faith in Christ, nothing in yourself. Once I had the harness on, it was off to the ropes. I found that the obstacles I found challenging, others found easy. The ones I thought were "fun" (there really were some that were fun), others found scary or hard. So it is in life. I walk ropes others have walked before and find them to be much harder than I imagined they could be. 2. This life is harder alone. While I was up there, I probably would have quit much quicker had I not had friends in front of me yelling back words of wisdom on how to cross a certain bridge or avoid a painful mistake on the ropes. I also moved with speed because I knew there were people behind me and I did not want to be a hindrance to their progress either. I know for sure there are people that God has allowed into my life so those pivotal moments when I need someone to yell that encouragement to me. I also have people watching me...that's a weighty responsibility. 3. We are not left to do life without a "guide". When I was tackling one particular bridge (it was made of logs, suspended by ropes but not connected to each other...so in other words, it was like crossing a set of swings on a playground...everything was swinging while you tried to cross it) the guide was yelling a very specific direction. "Put one put in the middle of one log and keep it there while you swing the other leg to the next log and then repeat that process." When I listened to him, I had a relatively easy time crossing. Boy, when I quit listening (mostly out of sheer panic), it was really hard. Believers have a guide...the WORD! How many times do I rush out of the house without consulting it. A ropes course in the middle of a forest is nothing compared to this life. I had really keen ears to listen to my guide on the tree course...but how many times do I ignore my guide in my LIFE course? By the time I was home (and taking Tylenol for my aching muscles), I found myself feeling so very thankful for that experience. Not only had we avoided sitting inside all day in a meeting, but I had conquered major fears and had a lot of fun. I had gotten to know coworkers in a whole new way and I had learned some new lessons about myself. Now, I don't think you will see me making this into a weekend hobby, but I can say I will be back to try it again...someday.