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Introspective Sojourner

The journey inward following Christ’s path to that person I was uniquely created to be.

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Joy

A Walk in the Garden

I walked through the garden, taking in all the colors and scents. A quiet stream flowed gently through it. The peace was consuming. It was more beautiful than anything I had ever seen. More colors than I knew existed, and the flowers were wildly complex and intricate. The grass was high and lush, gently swaying in the breeze. It was warm. Perfectly comfortable. It was perfect.

“Is this Heaven?” I asked turning toward Jesus.

“No, but the veil is thin here.”

“How did I find this?”

“It’s a gift from the Holy Spirit.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Time is different here. Like if you were to zoom in on a circle so closely that what you see is a straight line. A moment here is like that. It’s perspective.” He smiled gently ensuring I understood. I did. Time was slow and full here.

I was singing again. Like I could hear a song and was singing along. I was so grateful for the song. It filled my heart. Tears rolled down my cheeks. 

Jesus gently took a flower and leaned it toward my hand. The second it touched me, I could hear its song. It was magical. Somehow my song harmonized perfectly. Like my soul knew the flower was singing even if my ears couldn’t hear it before. I reached for another flower without letting go of the first. It had a song too. All three different. All three beautifully complemented each other, like a small orchestra. The beauty and the scents all adding to this amazing garden. Jesus smiled as he watched me take it in.

“The whole garden is singing?”

“Yes, even the rocks cry out.”

I recognized the reference. Another tear. 

“It’s overwhelming, it’s so beautiful. And this isn’t Heaven?”

“You aren’t ready yet. You’re still learning your song. Heaven is so much more.”

“Can’t I learn my song there?”

“Some people do. But that’s not His plan for you. The world needs a little of your song. Your children and grandchildren – they need to hear more of it. Their roots aren’t as strong. Your song and the harmony you and your husband bring to each day and each other, it sings to their spirit. They don’t even notice sometimes but their spirit does.”

“We aren’t always in harmony.” I said looking down sadly. I knew that I played a part in that. 

“The moment you accepted me, I touched your spirit. I placed that song in you like a seed. The Holy Spirit has been protecting it, helping it find deeper soil. Helping the soil become more rich, and gently teasing out the roots. Some seeds land in rich soil immediately. Some seeds do not, and the soil has to be tended to first. You have wanted to burst out of that shell from a very young age. You heard the song, and you wanted to grow like these flowers to sing your song with all your heart, but the soil wasn’t ready. You needed the protection of the shell as the Spirit tended to it. You were still learning your song, but it wasn’t time to sing it to the world. Little by little your roots have shot out and moved deeper and deeper. You were thirsty for the Spirit, to hear the whole orchestra. But you…” He said looking directly in my eyes, “get distracted by other pieces of the song. Wanting other seeds to open before they are ready, before the soil is ready.”

I thought about the times I had tried to encourage spiritual growth in my husband or my kids. Maybe force it. Wanting to point out the splinter in their eye while ignoring the log in my own. I thought I was helping. 

I nodded my head slowly and asked, “Did I mess things up?”

“Of course not. The Spirit gently redirected those roots to where they needed to go. It’s not your job to help them grow. That’s His job. He’s got it under control. Their part of the song is different from yours. They have to learn their part, not yours. The Spirit sees the whole score, like a conductor. Some of the parts need to repeat and play again stronger or softer to support the score. Your part has had repeats too.”

“I thought I just hadn’t fully learned that lesson.” I smiled weakly.

“That’s not the whole truth though. You kept moving forward and kept searching for God. And that helped others to want to search for Him both when you seemed to be doing a good job and when you seemed off track. Sometimes people needed to feel right or superior to find their way. It’s all part of the song. The Spirit used both the harmony and the dissonance to make something beautiful.”

“When will I grow flowers?”

“If you grow flowers too soon your stems will break. That’s not what is planned for you. You can’t look at those who are supposed to have long and bending stems because that’s not the kind of flower you’ll support. You need deeper roots and stronger stems because I have something truly unique planned for you. You also can’t look at your strong stems and compare it to others who are supposed to bloom fast with soft stems. The garden needs them all. You aren’t the gardener, I am. You need those types of flowers to strengthen your soil. You don’t see the big picture. It’s not time.”

I nodded. “I don’t trust you enough.”

“No one does. You’re trying. You’re still learning.” He pointed to a rose and continued, “You know how a rose bush pushes out beautiful blooms and then they die off so the stems can come in stronger, and the blooms can be even more beautiful. Learning is something like that. Keep singing your song. Keep growing your roots. Trust me. Trust the Spirit. There’s so much more than you can imagine.”

I could feel the world coming closer to the garden, pulling me away. “Is my time here over now?”

“For now. But you can return anytime you need to. You know the song. You know the way.”

I felt the love and heard the song again – like the orchestra had burst out around me. Sweeping me away for the longest moment.

Another tear rolled down my cheek and I could hear my church singing. I opened my eyes to those standing around me singing to Him. Worshiping. I could feel the Spirit. He was thick in the room with those who’d gathered. All the saints reaching out to touch and be touched by Him. Roots growing, a song being revealed. In His time. According to His plan. 

Something more than I could ever imagine.

By Vicki L. Pugliese

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Fake Connections

I didn’t make it to church today. I had an excuse – there are always excuses. It was very cold, and our dog isn’t allowed unsupervised in the house because she eats doors. I hate leaving her in the dog run, even though we heat it some and it’s covered and has access to the yard. It was just an excuse. I’m struggling with having excuses come Sunday morning. We watch the service from home. The sermon was great. Our pastor does an excellent job.

It’s become a pattern in my life. Excuses to keep me from making real connections with people I love. It’s easy to find excuses… I’m not feeling up to it. I’m tired. I’m working or taking care of this thing I need to do. All of my connections, not just attending church; going to visit my friends, even family, going to Bible study, even just going to the store. My circle is closing in on me.

When I was younger, I loved going to hang out with friends and hated being alone. If I was stuck being alone, I was on the phone grasping at the connections I desperately wanted. Now, if you call me without texting first, I will probably screen your call and call you back – reluctantly. I will guilt myself until I do call you back, so I’m not really sure why I hate picking up. I don’t actually mind talking on the phone, especially if there is distance between us and visiting is impossible or difficult. Still there will be at least a moment or two of panic and dread as I answer the call.

This morning, I saw one of my favorite families walk down the aisle to the front of the church and I was sad I had chosen to stay home. I realized how I’ve given up true connections for false connections. I avoid going out to hang out with friends and families. I settle for a phone call. Actually, I prefer a text. I have fake connections with friends from my childhood and youth. People I don’t really know but we enjoy the same silly memes and jokes. Instead of going out and doing things, learning new things or just enjoying crowds who like the same things that I do, I doom scroll through social media or binge watch TV.

Fake connections have been invading my life since childhood. First the phone and TV, followed by the internet and now social media. Slowly electronic connections, which give me a false sense of connection, have eroded my desire for real connections. Maybe not my desire but certainly my follow-through. They pacify my hunger like cheap sweet or salty snacks. That’s a blog for another time. They don’t really feed the nutritional need for connection. They just keep me from being hungry.

Yesterday we had a big group of family and friends get together to celebrate some birthdays. The connections were true, and it filled my soul. I got to spend some quality time laughing and enjoying my kids and grandkids.

As kids we were always surrounded by family and friends. Someone was always dropping by, or we were going to visit. Being Generation Jones, we left early in the morning and showed back up when it got dark. We spent every moment with friends. If we ended up at someone’s house, there was often a group of adults hanging out as well, somewhere near-by. We might try to stick around and just watch tv Saturday mornings but one or two cartoons in, our parents were kicking us out to go play. I never played alone. If my bestie was unavailable, I’d find another kid, or we’d end up at the park or pool and spend the afternoon with a friend or two amongst a crowd of a friend or two.

Today, I work from home. I connect via the internet with coworkers that don’t even live in the same state as me or each other. I text my kids and best friend. I send memes and videos to people while scrolling on social media. I binge watch fake connections on tv that resolve problems in an hour. My circle becomes smaller and smaller as the enemy makes it easier and easier to isolate myself and find excuses not to make the effort to have a real connection. Even my devotions are via my smart phone instead of picking up the Bible right beside me. Real connections feed me, but I settle for the fake ones because of excuses. I can find a million of them. Ironically, I worry about some of the people I love who are very introverted, who don’t like things that are too peopley. Maybe I should be worrying about me. I definitely get more out of church when I attend, so I’m not exactly sure why I find excuses. Unless it’s the enemy. If the enemy can’t take away my faith, it can hobble the connections and my impact with excuses. Pretty clever plan actually.

Just like the sweet or salty snack, I will make the wrong choice knowing it’s the wrong choice at times. But perhaps I can move towards correcting this if I acknowledge it’s an issue and I want to change it. 

Next week, I’ll see that church family in person. At least I hope I will, because I miss their faces and the sound of their voices. Next week I’ll feed my soul the nutrition it really needs, a real connection. If you attend church with me and I’m not there next week, feel free to tag this post and remind me. Because my soul needs it. God built us for connections, real connections, and I need to stop finding excuses for fake ones.

By Vicki L. Pugliese.  

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The Pruning of Me

Pruning my roses is cathartic for me. I love searching out the right spot to trim back to. I know that trimming the bushes will allow them to bloom again; fuller and stronger. I see the deep color of the new leaves. I see the thicker, heartier stems pushing through and hints of blooms to come. 

There are parallels to my life and faith. I’m not always happy when God prunes – especially when the decay goes deep. Things I’ve struggled with for a long time that I know need to be cleared away for me to grow. They are familiar and I get anxious when He says they have to go. 

I look at my childhood and see the blooms I once had. I miss them. 

“Remember when I prayed all the time and ran around singing hymns, God?” 

He tells me that He loved those blooms too, but to trust Him, the new blooms will be even better. I worry that my faith was stronger and might never be that way again. He reminds me that I needed that faith to survive the childhood ahead of me and the trauma I would go through.

I learned to go to Him at a very young age, afraid that everyone would abandon me. I would need to know to turn to Him and believe He would always be there even when my world shifted under me.  I would need that when my mom was institutionalized again. 

I learned to be grateful for my life and my wonderful friends. I have been blessed with the best friends my whole life. He shows me that I needed them to counteract the hate I experienced from my family. I needed their kind words to hear Him tell me that I was enough – that I was loveable. 

Now my faith is my own, not words of others that I believed without question. I have gone through deep seasons of doubt. My faith has been tested, and He has proven Himself faithful. I have so much to be grateful for. Even during my biggest struggles, He brought me joy. I know this without question now.

He is the author of the new growth in me. He created the new blossoms ready to bloom. I have had my share of pain – often at my own doing, avoiding the deepest cuts He needed to make. 

I find myself grateful tonight for the blooms that once were, now cut away. I see the beauty in them as they were at their peak. That beauty lets me trust in the promise of what God is yet to do in my life. I see the new leaves. I see the stronger stems. 

I’m sure there will still be whining about the cuts – after all I am still me. But I know I can trust Him because He sees the me He designed me to be.

 

By Vicki L. Pugliese

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All My Life You Have Been Faithful

All my life you have been faithful. All my life you have been so so good.

‘Cause your goodness is running after, running after me.

From the Titusville Presbyterian church with the wall of organ pipes that are like the breath of God, where I first sang songs to you.

From the vacation Bible study somewhere in Cherrytree Pennsylvania where I learned the joy of singing of your love.

From the Hydetown Baptist church where Pastor Larry Hellein touched my heart, and I first came forward to your alter. Where I was baptized and pledged my life to you. Where a youth group strengthened my faith and Gordon Turk and Ken Jackson taught us your word. Where I sang my first solo and almost never sang another, that was so scary.

From the Free Methodist youth group that showed me everyone is accepted and loved.

Your goodness is running after, running after me.

From the Navy Chapel in bootcamp, to the one on Fort Meyers where I clung to what I knew.

From the Assembly of God church, and the boy’s God parent’s, Gary and Sharon Seifrit, who scooped up a broken little family and took them in and set us on a right path again.

From the Navy Chapel in Pearl Harbor and the choir that adopted a little single parent family. Where the officer’s women’s Bible study took in the one enlisted female looking for a morning Bible study and loved her so well. From the Navy Chapel’s choir and single’s group that helped me renew my faith. Where Pastor Stephen Sloat led and deepened my walk with you and looked out for a young me searching to be loved.

From a Pearl Harbor Sub Base Chapel and it’s choir that accepted and loved me and Jerry and started our walk with you.

Your goodness is running after, running after me.

From the Folsom Presbyterian Church that became Journey church, with Pastor Del Burnett who made Jerry and I part of a church family. With Pastor Keith Posehn who made Jerry and I youth group leaders and filled our lives with the joy of service, and the youth group kids who loved us as much as we loved them. From Pastor Toby Nelson who taught us Greek and “Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think according to the power that works in us” Eph 3:20.  From Pastor Mike Umbenhaur and Pastor Dave Huusko who continued our faith journey at Journey church. And the choir we sang in so diligently. Learning how to sing with all our souls from Anne Indermill and Len Jones. Where Anne and Mark Indermill and Bob Surridge encouraged me to try another solo. That was probably my last.

While the prayers of a Bible Study with Marya Morgan, Ann Patchen, Yvonne Roe and Jan Williamse prayed for me constantly and loved me through the death of my father.

Where Journey church and Hope Church taught me that splitting a church is never a good idea, and my heart was broken, as half the people I loved chose to move away from the other half that I loved. Where my heart died a little more as members moved on to other cities and other states.

Your goodness is running after, running after me.

Where Sophie Agricola and Lee and Jen Stacy showed me, I could find another church family at Vintage Grace church. Where Pastor Drew Sodestrom rekindled my faith and gave me phrases like #ButGod #WithGod, “God’s better is better” that preserved me through a dark season of job loss and a pandemic. Where my faith became trust and seeking your face deeper than I had ever before. Where a Life Group sustained my daily walk with love, and hands that showed me your love in a very tangible way.

Your goodness is running after, running after me.

To Ohio and the Rivertree Massillon church and Pastor Jake Garmany who has continued our journey as we live closer to my family. To the Bible study led by Doug and Sonji Gregory who deepen my faith and give me a home to talk of your great love and amazing power.

And all my life you have been faithful. All my life you have been so so good. With every breath that I am able. I will sing of the goodness of God.

So many friends who I’ve met at church and work and school. You have filled my life from every corner. Through every season. My life is so full it is overflowing and I pray your love spills out of me to everyone you have brought me to love, and everyone who is in my life. From the stranger in line at a cash register to the best friend I could ever ask for Faith Thompson. To my faith journey partner Jerry Pugliese who encourages me and supports me and worships you with me. May your love spill over into their lives so that they might feel your presence as I have… all my life and into the lives of my children and grandchildren.

May the years I have left be more of the same. Thank you God. Thank you Jesus, I am so grateful for your goodness and love.

Oh Lord hear my prayers and worship.

By Vicki L. Pugliese

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I Just Need Sunshine

“I just need sunshine, Lord”. The words had barely escaped my lips, as I sat on my sun porch, when the words of the next song “Remember Me” by Mark Schultz started up.

Remember Me. In a Bible cracked and faded by the years.
Remember Me. In a sanctuary filled with silent prayer.
And age to age and heart to heart, Bound by grace and peace.
Child of wonder, child of God. I’ve remembered you…
Remember me.

In a moment only God could design, the sunshine broke free from the clouds just as the words “Child of wonder” were sung. I did remember… many silent prayers in different sanctuaries. I had recently had my childhood Bible returned by my best friend; cracked and faded by many years. I have experienced more than my share of grace and peace.

Overwhelmed and touched so deeply by such a small moment, I felt all the love from all the little moments just like this. All the sunrises and sunsets that were little hugs from God when I needed them most. All the beauty of spring babies that brought me joy over the years – baby cows, baby horses, baby ducks. All the precious moments where my husband, kids, and grandkids have shown me how much I am loved and needed. All the laughter and fun spent with my most precious relationships. The myriad of friends who God has brought into my life exactly when I needed them. Words of encouragement that stuck with me for years to come.

One little timely window of sunshine and I’m placed back on my feet to continue my walk with God. How many of these moments have I forgotten? How many have I not even realized occurred? (That’s far more likely with me. I do miss a lot.) My life has been filled with stress, troubles, trauma, and pain but when I look back – at least this morning – I see all the grace and peace. What a beautiful tapestry my life has been. No tear has been wasted. No heartache has failed to soften me. 

I can’t even imagine a life with out my Lord. My heart hurts for those who don’t have this. I have people I pray for daily, that they would choose Christ or turn back to Him. I want desperately for them to know this grace and peace.

But this morning, I remember. I am grateful for such a God who cares this deeply for me.

By 

Vicki L. Pugliese

1

One Last Chance

Jake was giving God one last chance as he got out of his car at the church on the corner. Life had been so hard, especially lately. Shoving the pain down one more time he headed towards its doors.

She saw the elderly woman take a shaky step onto the ramp that covered the stairs. It didn’t have any handrails. She thought about how her own mother was comforted and steadied by taking her arm as they walked, so she offered it to the woman. The elderly woman smiled and thanked her. They chatted about the weather as they walked down the ramp and parted ways.

A mom carrying a small child saw the woman offer her arm and smiled. She loved this church even though she had only been there a couple of times. 

“Good morning, did you need help finding something?” a man standing at a visitor’s booth nearby asked her.

“Is the children’s ministry still down this way?” she asked just to be sure.

“Yes, but you have to go around because of the construction. Here let me show you,” he said walking towards her.

They walked around a shed to get back to the doorway. He was pleasant and her son warmed up to him quickly.

Someone met them at the door and the nice man told her to have a wonderful day. The young woman at the door showed her how to check in her son and walked her to the room with children his age.

The man who had walked her around the construction went back to his booth, greeting everyone he passed. He stopped for a second to chat with someone he knew. They exchanged a laugh.

Probably an inside joke, Jake thought as he approached them.

The man looked Jake in the eyes and said, “Good Morning!” His smile was bright.

Jake mustered a small smile and a nod. He was following the people who seemed to know where they were going, but in the few seconds it had taken to walk here from his car, he was feeling his mood brighten.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” asked another man coming along side of Jake.

Jake nodded thinking, it was a pretty friendly church but that didn’t really prove anything. Still, he was glad they were.

A pleasant woman with bulletins greeted them at the door. The man Jake had walked up with told him to have a nice day as he stepped away to greet someone he knew.

Jake slipped into the back row on the left as the worship team moved towards the front. A large screen was counting down for something. Jake assumed that was when the service would start. He was right. As soon as the countdown hit zero there was a soft drum roll and the music began.

Jake didn’t sing. The lyrics were displayed on the screen over a view of waves crashing at a cliff. The video mirrored his feelings lately. Jake was determined not to participate. He stood without singing. This was God’s last chance and he wasn’t going to make it easy on Him.

There was a break in the music and someone came up and asked visitors to fill out the card in the backs of the seat in front of them. Jake stared at the little red card and pen in front of him, but didn’t pull it out. The music resumed and people around him lifted their hands in the air. Jake stared at the words, feeling lost in their midst.

Soon the music was ending and a man, presumably the pastor, bounced up onto the stage as the worship team stepped down. Happiness seemed to ooze out of him. The screen now held a Bible verse as the pastor began. He spoke of fighting for your joy and how he wanted them to be happier today than they were yesterday.

“There’s more joy in Jesus than in anything…” the pastor said and Jake felt like he looked him directly in the eyes when he spoke.

Jake was thinking he hadn’t felt joy since his before his father got sick. It had been a long fight against the cancer that had caused his father so much pain. He had passed away a fraction of the size he had been when he was strong. Cancer had devastated every part of him. Jake’s small mother had seemed to have no trouble lifting him from his wheelchair to the couch or bed.

A single tear threatened to roll down his cheek as his heart ached at the thought of it. Jake did his best to will the tear to stay. His mind wandered, barely taking in the sermon, though a visual or two broke through. God’s presence hovering like a cloud over the temple and God’s light showing them the way in the dark.

Jake thought to himself. “It would be nice to know where you were supposed to go.”

Jake felt like life had been filled with darkness lately. His mom’s health was deteriorating now as well. She missed his dad so much. No one expected her to be with them much longer. He wasn’t sure he could take the pain of losing her too.

“We were designed to be in relationships, in relationship with God…”

Jake thought about being alone soon. Those thoughts scared him.

“How can I be in relationship with you God? I’m not even sure you exist. Where were you when Dad died? Where are you now?” Jake thought.

Jake felt a warmth fall over his shoulder. He looked to his side but no one was there. His heart beat wildly in his chest as if he were a rabbit caught out in a field alone. He froze, afraid to move. The feeling didn’t go away. It was as if God sat down in the chair beside him and put his arm around Jake and whispered in his ear, “Here. I’m right here.”

Jake didn’t hear another word of the sermon. It was all he could do to keep the tears from falling. The pastor finished and sat down a few rows in front of him as the music began again. Jake didn’t stand when the worship leader asked them too. He was too afraid the feeling would leave him.

A paraphrase of a Bible verse he knew, where two or three are gathered, bounced around in his head. Had God truly met him here today? Jake couldn’t shake the feeling and he couldn’t explain it. 

As he walked slowly from the building several people smiled and spoke to him. Jake was still miles away, focusing on what he had just experienced, and trying not to let it overwhelm him. He looked down and realized he was carrying the visitor’s card and that somewhere in the service he had filled it out. Barely, but still, his name and email were present.

The man who had walked in beside him stepped up next to him again. “If you take that to the booth over there, they have a gift for you,” the man said patting him on the shoulder as he pointed to the visitor’s booth.

“Thank you,” Jake said in almost a whisper. The warmth of the man’s touch reminded him of the warmth he had felt in the sanctuary.

People were smiling and chatting all around him, but Jake was still lost in what he couldn’t explain. Even though he had arrived to give God one more chance, he had dismissed all that he had witnessed.

It was a friendly church. They did seem joyful and Jake longed for that joy. More importantly Jake longed for the relationship he thought they must have with God, if there was a God.

He handed the man at the booth his visitor’s card and the man handed him a small bag of things. Jake peered down into the bag at a coffee cup and some other small items. It was nice. If this man had any idea how he had felt when he arrived, Jake wasn’t sure he would still be as kind to him.

No one thing had made a difference. Determined to walk away sure there was no God, Jake had dismissed them all one by one. He couldn’t dismiss God’s presence.

But God had a different plan and each thing Jake had witnessed or experienced had brought him one step closer to the place God planned to give him back his faith, the place where God showed up in Jake’s story.

God knew Jake had only one more chance to offer Him, and He used His people to bring Jake close, and to complete the morning that Jake would never forget. Just the way He would use Jake in someone else’s story in the very near future to move His Kingdom forward. His plan was perfectly woven.

You see, little things don’t mean much… they mean everything.

 

By

Vicki L. Pugliese

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That’s my son

I knew the second I laid eyes on him, even though his back was to me. No doubts – none at all. I immediately started to cry. Seconds before, at the fish tank, at the entrance of the restaurant, I had just said, “Wow, that kid looks so much like Thomas.”  – our grandson.  They lived on the other side of the country, thousands of miles away. The thought that it was Thomas never entered my mind. 

My husband had decided to take me to lunch. We rarely did that because where I worked wasn’t close. I should have seen that as a clue. They had cleaned the house too. That was the big clue I missed. I wasn’t complaining. Seriously though, really clean, and that was the big clue.

My son and his family had conspired with my husband and daughter to surprise me with their visit. I had absolutely no clue. They had been coming and then there was some valid excuse that they couldn’t. I had no reason not to believe they couldn’t make it. By the time I walked into the little Chinese restaurant, it was forgotten. 

But the second I saw his frame – I knew. The clues fell into place. My son had come home for a visit. My daughter-in-law smiled up at me from across the table with her precious face. It filled my heart. It was the best surprise ever.

Our church uses a word “communitas” – not community. It signifies that deeper relationship – the idea of doing life together or serving together. A little like the way that my small home town was more like a community or the way we made our fellow veterans our family when I served in the Navy.

The type of relationship we all search for. That knowing the second you see them – there is someone I love – who loves me. The way I knew that was my son even though he was facing away from me.

It’s that kind of relationship that gets my super introverted family to go to church. They belong there and people know them and love them exactly as they are, no hidden agendas, no wish list of things they should do better at, or be better at. The smiles of those we’ve known and loved for years now, tell us that we are welcomed. Just the way we are. Just as far along in our journey as we have come. No one there sees us with a big list of how we’ve failed or let them down. They’re just happy to see us – as we are them.

I suppose it isn’t a perfect church – that was never the point. It’s our communitas. Other Christians who aren’t perfect, who love us even though we aren’t perfect, even though we make mistakes.They want us to be there. They want us to be part of their journey and to experience God’s love through the way He moves in all of our lives. It brings us and keeps us closer to Him. The one who called us by name before we ever took a breath. He knew what knuckleheads we would be. He knew the mistakes we would make and yet He loved us so perfectly. There’s no stronger desire than to be loved that way, completely loved and fully known.

We have to lay down our lists. Our lists of the wrongs others have done to us. Our list of the disappointments we have felt. Our past hurts. Our lists of how we think this person in our life “should” be. Expectations that set us up for barriers in our relationships that do exactly the opposite of what we desire. To be truly loved in spite of our mistakes and bad choices.

We have to stop judging our church services and having roast pastor for lunch. Stop the hate. The “I hate this kind of music”.  I hate when the church is too full or too empty, too dark, too loud. I hate when other Christians aren’t perfect…   because just like us, they want to be loved while imperfect. 

God put so many wonderful people in my life and none of them are perfect. What an amazing blessing that is. Others just like me, on a journey to spread the great news about how God loves them and isn’t fooled by their masks, or public faces. He knows my heart and loves me more deeply than I could ask. That’s such great news. He put a whole group of people to journey with me, so we could help each other to deepen our relationship with Him and reach out to those who are yet to believe. What a mind blowing blessing that is, don’t you agree?

I hope you find your communitas, or that you create a communitas. So that everyone can know, somewhere out there is someone who loves me so much that they’ll cry at my sight. They love me so much that they recognize me instantly from far away or with my back to them even if I was supposed to be miles away. Someone who knows what a dunderhead I am, but choses to love me anyway. Just the way our Savior does. Just the way I am.

By

Vicki L. Pugliese

The 11th Mile

“How is your soul?” our pastor asked us to ask each other. “Tired”, “Fine”… I heard around me. “Wounded and a bit beaten,” was my response. It was such a small moment with such a big impact. My words stuttered as they came out. Emotion caught in my throat as the truth of them hit me.

As the day wore on, flashes of five years ago kept creeping into my mind. Five years ago my husband and I trained for a Disney Half Marathon – which we completed. For some reason my mind was connecting the feelings my words had described to that day.

I am not a runner by nature, and I’m slow.  My husband said when I jog it’s more like a cross between moseying and jogging. He’s not wrong.  It took a little over a year from when I first got off the couch and prepared for my first 5K. I was diligent at training. Don’t applaud my efforts too soon. I’m an “all in” and then “quickly all out” kind of girl – I get bored easily. Injuries have sent me back to my old ways and I have gained back the weight I lost. But that day when I was “all in”, despite an injured ankle – I finished my race. The finish line is not where I felt those feelings – that was at the eleventh mile.

At the eleventh mile I stopped and soaked my sore knee and ankle in bio-freeze, as did many of the other runners.  I made a pit stop, and when I came back out, I saw her run by; the balloon lady.  For those of you who have never run a half marathon, or didn’t run it at the back of the pack, there is a pacer and she has balloons tied to her so that you know that’s who she is. For a Disney half, you end up out running on the streets near the park. So for safety reasons, if you are behind the balloon lady at a mile marker, there is a bus sitting there ready to take you to the finish line. You are not allowed to continue – it’s a hard and fast rule.

As I saw her run by, my heart sank. I was already exhausted and there was over two and a half miles left to go, and now I was behind the absolute slowest I was allowed to go. I immediately took off in an attempt to catch up with her. I caught her and fell behind her several times in the next mile.  At one point she reminded several of us that if we were behind her at the mile marker, we would be asked to stop. I remember thinking I wasn’t going to make it. I had trained so hard and yet I was going to be asked to stop. It was defeating.

Then several of us began plotting her demise as we ran just in front of her.  She would laugh and tell us that she could hear us. It helped to lighten that despair, even if it was silly. Somehow the journey took on a value of its own. I was laughing.  I was enjoying commiserating with others but knowing I wasn’t going to give up. We encouraged each other. Eventually I would pull away from her enough not to have her presence be a constant worry. Worry is exhausting. I found my second wind, somewhere deep down and finished; running into the happy arms and smiling face of my husband who had finished much sooner.

That feeling I had at the eleventh mile – that’s how my soul has felt many times recently. I suppose I’m in the eleventh mile of my career. Close enough to want it to be over but tired enough to also want to give up and get on the bus. Some days I’m not sure I’ll find my second wind.  

I lost my job a little over a year ago. I was not a match for this little company I had joined. It’s been a hard battle back for my self-esteem. I was injured in the process. Injured where it doesn’t show, if you don’t know me. I long for retirement – the finish line. But in the process, I’m missing the journey.  In the process, I’m longing for my future and dismissing the value of my present. I see the balloon lady and I’m discouraged. It’s hard to keep working when you aren’t sure you can do it. When with every mistake made or unrealistic deadline missed, I wonder if this failure will be my undoing. The voice in my head is my own worst enemy. It’s like running and trying to keep up with the balloon lady, passing her only to have her pass you again.

Our pastor told us to pray for those answers we heard. Pray for those, like me, who answered honestly from a place of less than victory. And now, after my pastor’s question – I’m looking for my pack. The one that will plot the balloon lady’s demise… and make me laugh, and make me enjoy the journey again. I need to find my “communitas” as our church calls it. I need to fight for my joy and I need their help with that.

I’m looking for them now. I’ve realized how much I need them, so I won’t end up on the bus. How much I need them to change my focus because I’ve realized I don’t want to quit. I want to finish the race. I want to finish and run into the smiling arms of Jesus. Somehow I think someone else out there is looking for their pack too. I want to encourage you to fight for your joy. Find your pack. Don’t miss out on the journey wishing for the finish line. Because the best memories are there even in the eleventh mile and you’ll miss them if you get on the bus.

 

 By

Vicki L. Pugliese

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The Search for Joy

There’s something very attractive about Joy. We seem designed to search for it, to fill our insatiable need. It warms us and lingers. The belly laugh of a baby, or the antics of a puppy; they bring a smile to our face. That look on an old friend’s face as you walk through the door; so happy to see you. We long to have our lives filled with it, and will do almost anything to obtain it.

We’ll substitute Joy’s cousin happiness, if our cup gets too empty. Happiness seems so much easier to find. We find happiness in relationships, achievement, and material things. But happiness is intricately linked with disappointment. Relationships that start out somewhere in the stratosphere end up being plagued with boredom, or worse – apathy. We are selfish by nature, and the work it takes to maintain a relationship gets tedious. Our prior achievements quickly lose their sparkle. The happiness they brought inevitably devolves into “what have you done for me lately?” The next shiny new toy only makes us long for more. Happiness becomes, at best, contentment with a side of obligation.

The difference from true joy seems obvious, even though, at first, they felt the same. We are drawn to it.

Our pastor regularly tells us “There’s more joy in Jesus” and that he wants us to have more joy today than we did yesterday. What seems like a simple focus change, in practice, is not as easy as it sounds.

I try to trust and follow, only to find I’ve wandered off. I go through the motions of church attendance, and reading His word. It isn’t changing me. There isn’t a list of minimum things to do to achieve Joy. Maybe it’s just me, but I’m certainly going to end up looking to do the minimum even if I start out zealous.

Once I mess things up, I’m quick to hand it over to Jesus, but when things get back on track… Well… then I start pushing Him off the throne of my heart. I forget and strike out on my own – hoping to find an unending source.

And in the process, walk away from it.

Jesus doesn’t need my help. There is no minimum list because nothing I could ever do could ever earn what He has already done for me. He wants my whole heart. His plans are far greater than anything I could imagine. Complete with the redemption from careless actions I’m sure to take.

But do I trust Him enough?

I want to hang on to my pet wound that I’ve tucked down so deep. I want to pick it up and hold it close, to shed a tear. I want it healed – but I don’t want to let go, even as it leads me away from joy. I allow it to hurt me all over again. Had I only let Him heal it, I would have found joy in that story. Over and over I could return to His healing to find strength, faith and hope. Over and over I could have received the joy He intended.

All He ever wanted was for me to trust Him, to follow Him, to allow Him to be in control – and then my life would be filled with the Joy I so deeply desire. My cup would be filled and overflowing, so that I might let His love flow out onto others. So that I might be this joy that someone is drawn to, and I could tell them of the unending source. I could tell them of Him.

By Vicki L Pugliese

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