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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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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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God’s Appetizers

Sitting in my sunroom this morning during devotions, I felt content. The sky was blue and vast making me feel cozy and warm in my favorite chair. There was smoke billowing from a neighbor’s chimney and my home felt nestled in. Just a smattering of snow dusted the roof and birds were singing and playing about reminding me as I clutched my warm cup of coffee that spring was on its way. My dog was hunkered down beside me and the house was quiet and still. I was grateful for this life that God has given me, so filled by its goodness.

A little post from my best friend on the park we used to spend a lot of time at as kids, made me remember all of the fun we had hanging out. The many walks to and from the various parks that surrounded our little town filled with fun conversations and strong bonding moments. I don’t recall conversations, only feeling close to my friends as we spent time together. I can hear our laughter and feel the smiles and happiness we shared. My childhood was filled with so many friends that loved me dearly for exactly who I was. Hours and hours spent with each other. The mundane filled with something indescribably fulfilling. 

Which is a bit ironic because a week ago, I sat in that exact same chair. It felt far more wintery than spring. There was more snow, and the sky was gray, and I was feeling empty. I was focused on the dead plants surrounding me (they were still there this morning), and how the sunroom seems to be becoming more of a catch all storage room than my favorite devotions hang out. That same quiet peacefulness felt like a blanket of heaviness, and I felt disconnected and dissatisfied. I was ruminating on the trauma from my childhood and its correlations to the current feelings of being overwhelmed I had that day. 

I was looking back to that same childhood focused on the pain and how I couldn’t wait to get out of that town. The desire to flee the expectations of perfection that I would never live up to. The weight of the responsibility that I felt had been inappropriately laid on me. How my inability to be perfect ruined everything and caused all of the troubles our family had. How alone and rejected I felt, incapable of being the person I was expected to be. 

What changed? Well, there was a great sermon about this life being the appetizer and not the meal. The weather has warmed up and the sun was out. The birds are coming back and showing signs of spring – but mostly what I was focused on had changed. All of the other changes were minor, perhaps assisting me to focus on the things I love, but life had not changed. I had the same memories of childhood last week as I did this morning. I just was taking out the happy ones and reexamining them, feeling those emotions.  Letting that memory fill me up with contentment. I wasn’t brow beating myself over my shortcomings. I wasn’t holding others to a measure no one could meet. Happiness today wasn’t being measured by “what have you done for me lately” and how my life had threads of pain all through it. But happiness today was being measured by how full my life has already been and the expectation that I have more time to add to that aresenal. 

Sometimes I feel like I’m such a drama queen. My life is such a rollercoaster when nothing has really changed. But life is so much more exponentially full if I reexperience the highs and lows in my memory. If I feel the laughter my best friend and I had as we played at the park; the spinning of the merry-go-round, the feel of the wind in my hair as we pushed our swings higher, or the excitement of the unknown on the teeter totters. Mostly when I remember the feeling of love and acceptance of hanging out with friends. That knowing that I could just be myself. 

This world is the appetizer, and it is not meant to be the meal, but appetizers can be so good. Appetizers can whet your appetite for the good that is to come. They can open conversations and let the fun begin long before your order is ever prepared. I need to remember to enjoy the appetizer because it’s all part of the experience God prepared for me. And it can fill me up until the much anticipated meal arrives. 

By Vicki L. Pugliese

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SWIFT ENCOURAGEMENT

There are numerous posts and photos recently of Taylor Swift standing to encourage another artist at the Grammys. Words praising her generosity of encouragement, or doubting her sincerity are both easily found. It brought to mind a time when I sang a solo at family camp. As someone young, I was told I had a great “choir voice” but not a solo voice. I was always very timid about singing solos. That night there was this young mom with bright red hair standing in the center of the back of the room, clearly cheering me on. Later that evening she made time to encourage me and tell me she enjoyed my solo and song choice (Adonai by Avalon).

That was over twenty years ago. Just a few moments of her time and sincere words of encouragement still mean something to me. I don’t even recall her name, but I can see her face clearly. Could she have just been being nice, sure, but those words seemed sincere to me.

I wonder, how often do I withhold my encouragement because I’m afraid that person won’t care or it’s not important? How often do thoughts of praise run through my mind that I don’t speak? Did God give me a chance to show someone love, and fear kept me from following through?

That one act twenty years ago – is still a solid memory. It still makes me feel good. Did I withhold a memory like that from someone? If I had known it would make them feel good twenty years later, would I still withhold it if given the chance to say it again? I sure am quick to send out snarky remarks and what I think is funny observations. I’m lightening fast with the sarcasm and rarely have a filter.

Maybe I could encourage more. Maybe I could simply speak the encouraging thoughts I’m thinking instead of worrying if the person cares, or if someone else will judge me. Even if I think, perhaps they have a choir voice, but I see their effort and desire to do their best, maybe I could encourage anyway. I could funnel God’s love that I feel in that moment. I could make sure that person knows I see them. Whether that means nothing to them, or they still recall it fondly years later. That’s really up to God, isn’t it. I just need to say, “Here I am Lord, use me.”

By Vicki L. Pugliese

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Wrapping Not Value

Today I was struggling, again, with seeing my worth. I get caught up in what I see. God helped me to see the difference between “wrapping” and the value of the gift inside. You see I am quite challenged at gift wrapping, but I don’t get upset about it because I know it doesn’t change the value of the gift inside. You can wrap poop in a beautiful box but it’s still poop. Likewise, you could wrap a beautiful and rare gemstone in a paper bag with duct tape to seal it, and that gemstone is still valuable.

Of course, my ADHD brain took off after that bunny.  I’ve seen people who put poop into composts. They probably add other good stuff but mostly they add time, and they add a little effort and pretty soon they have this rich healthy stuff that they add to their gardens. That compost becomes healthy dirt that enables strong new life to grow. If you add time and a little effort that dirt creates more life that creates more dirt. Eventually that dirt gets packed down and the pressure of life creates rocks. Given the right circumstances and the right ingredients those rocks become gemstones. If those gemstones are pulled out of the rock, and the rough edges are chiseled away, the rock becomes something even more beautiful and rare. And it becomes more valuable.

Conversely, if you put poop on top of more poop and you keep adding poop and you do not give it time, it becomes sewage. Sewage will infect the dirt around it and make it unclean and unsafe. It can contaminate the water making it unclean and unsafe. Even if you put that sewage in a gorgeous box, it’s still sewage.

I saw the connection to who I am as a person and that original box of poop. My actions sometimes stink. I’m not as kind as I should be. I think of myself first, and I judge others too harshly. Given time, especially if I fill that time with time spent in the word or in prayer, those actions – that sin becomes empathy. I start seeing those actions through a lens of how I’ve been hurt or hurt others. If that empathy is put in the right conditions, it becomes Godly action where I breathe His love into someone else, or perhaps stop adding new poop to the pile. That love infused into someone else, can become new life. Perhaps a seed or the water to bring them closer to seeing God. Until there are many seeds and watered seeds creating new life and growing life.

The pressure of everyday hardens us. It pushes us and molds us. As long as we are still infusing God’s love into our lives, we become stronger. We become the rock that things can be built on. We provide stability for God’s love to blossom. But until God chisel’s away our rough edges we’re just a rock with the potential of being a gem. If we fight that growth because sometimes it’s painful, we will never reach that full potential.

Life is often hard. It cheats and it doesn’t care that there is pain. When I look back on my life, some of the hardest most painful times in my life also contained some of my fondest memories. There are times that I didn’t think I could go on, and that moment created strength that I didn’t know I had. I don’t really remember any time that was free of some sort of drama or pain. I realize often sometimes that’s my own fault because I don’t always see the consequences of my choices before I make them. Still, I have no memories of life being perfect in every aspect.

Which brings me back to this morning, where I have a good job that I like with people I like working with. I have a great husband and fabulous kids and amazing grandkids that love me and fill my life with wonder. I have sweet pets that fill my life with unconditional love. I have a great home that brings me pleasure, and I can afford my bills and my indulgences. Yet this morning, I looked in the mirror and only saw the paper bag wrapping sealed with duct tape. I didn’t see the gem that God has been building in me. I, for a moment, forgot how content I am in life right now, because of that wrapping that I felt ashamed of. That wrapping that adds no value to who I am and does not take away from the gift God has been creating in me.

It’s taken time and reflection to get me to this place. You’ve probably seen my journey through these blogs. Today, I choose to see the gem God is creating in me and to give it time, and effort. I choose to let God chisel away at those rough edges and TRUST Him that the good work He is creating in me, is not finished. But it’s going to be amazing.

By Vicki L. Pugliese

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Lawn Chairs in the Living Room

Struggle = Desired State – Current State.   Our pastor often asks, “Who is on the throne of your heart?” There’s occupancy for one, even though I often try to one-cheek it and just help Jesus out a little bit. He is faithful to let me take control, and faithful to take control when I vacate the seat for Him too. 

Currently I am on and off that throne so much I have bruises on my soul. You see, we recently moved to Ohio. We had big plans. We’ve been so excited about this for months. My family is close to where we moved, as are all of my grandchildren, and half of my kids. We’ve been looking forward to the slower pace and less financial stress due to the cost of living differences. Step by step we prepared to move.

Now both of my realtors were amazing – and came recommended by a friend or family. That’s an important point. Our California realtor helped us secure an electrician, general contractor, section one company and we easily completed the minor repairs needed to sell our home. It sold very quickly.

Our Ohio realtor helped us find a house beyond our dreams on a two day whirlwind house hunting trip and we put in an offer that was accepted. So we began the process of packing to get ready to move.

I called several movers, as well as PODS. I had PODS all set up, along with hiring muscle on either end to lift the heavy stuff. Then PODS told us the earliest date we could receive our belongings was December 14th. We have a blue and gold macaw that would be riding with us as we crossed the country and staying with us in a large dog kennel – which is still significantly smaller than his cage. An extra week in the kennel seemed unkind, so I went back to the movers I had already researched.

One mover stood out. They were a family run business. We would be purchasing the full 26ft truck for a flat rate, so that it would be unlikely that our belonging would get lost. The same movers would show up at my California home as would deliver to my Ohio home – in uniform. They couldn’t drive more than 500 miles a day but they could deliver our belongings on the 6th or 7th of December. They were perfect – and too good to be true. I had a feeling they were too good to be true before we hired them but I wanted Rio out of that kennel as soon as we could. So I ignored my gut reaction.

Here we are on December 21st and this moving company has been everyone’s worst nightmare. They didn’t show up when they promised, or with the size truck they promised. They sub contracted out to another moving company to do the work. The new owners of our California home would arrive at 6PM on the day the movers did show up. And the cost was astronomically higher than promised. The contract had been wrong and we had asked the movers to correct it but there was so much to do between the two sales that making sure we had the right contract fell through the cracks. When the subcontractors arrived we had no choice but to sign the contract, or they would not load our belongings. The new owners were coming. We signed the contract.

We managed to get a photo of the first page of the contract but the mover would not let us take pictures of the remaining pages. They would email it to us. They did not. They took down the contract from the emails they had sent previously with the incorrect contract so we couldn’t even compare them to each other.

Every day we text, call and remind the movers that we need our stuff and that Rio is still in a dog kennel. Every day they evade, half answer and make promises they aren’t going to keep. Apparently they have 30 days, or 21 business days to deliver our belongings legally. Of course this is what they tell us – we don’t really know that for sure.

My emotions have been all over the board. Sometimes I can lay this fiasco in God’s hands – after all there is nothing I can do that is making any difference in the outcome. Sometimes my emotions push me to yell and berate the movers – which I’m sure does nothing to help our cause.

I’m definitely experiencing struggle. What I pictured as my desired state of kicking back in our new house and starting this new phase is not the same our current state of not knowing if our belongings will ever arrive or arrive in one piece. Turns out, being the only family on one truck was also a lie. They informed us we would be unloaded somewhere in California and loaded onto a much bigger truck headed for New York and then from there be unloaded and loaded on a smaller truck to deliver. So many chances to break our belongings. I find myself panicking off and on.

But when I do vacate the throne of my heart and leave this mess in Jesus’ hands, I am reminded that we made the trip without incident. It was actually a nice trip – even with a dog that gets car sick and a macaw. Rio was so good – I really am shocked. Everyone is settling in. Even though we’re sleeping on an air mattress and have borrowed lawn chairs in the living room.

Neither of us got sick, even though this pandemic was kicking into high gear as we traveled and people on both ends of our move tested positive. All of our friends are recovering, and none had severe symptoms. We have much to be grateful for.

This house will not be perfect and we will have to deal with all life throws at us. That’s not different. We expected that.

Our pipes backed up into our basement and we had to call RotoRooter out to handle it. The sewage water that soaked several carpet tiles – that’s where many of our belongings would have been stored waiting to be unpacked had things gone by plan. We got the problem fixed in just a few hours. Because our things hadn’t been delivered nothing else was destroyed.

What is different is I never expected to be sitting on lawn chairs in my living room wondering when or if my things would arrive. Already though God has proved that even though this has been unbelievably stressful – I can see He is with us. The more I turn my heart over to Him – the less stress I feel.

I’ve been through a lot in my life. God has always been faithful. There has always been struggle but when I look back, I have so much to be grateful for.

This has been a difficult year for so many – far more difficult than my stuff being delayed. After all, it is just stuff. Next year – even though it won’t be 2020 – will have its own set of struggles. As will the year after that. That’s kind of the gig. Our pastor asked what the difference was between being buried and being planted. Trusting the gardener. What a great visual.

I do trust Jesus, maybe just not enough. I know I’m not alone but perhaps my introspective journey will help you as you traverse yours. Trust Jesus – even when you are using lawn chairs in your living room. Then step back and appreciate how you grow where you were planted.

By Vicki L. Pugliese

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Open Letter to the NFL

Dear NFL, it’s time to have a Dr. Phil moment. “How’s that working for you?” We’ve spent so much time and energy fighting over ‘how’ this important message gets made. Players boycotting the anthem. Fans boycotting the games. Owners supporting and openly standing against the ‘how’ – on a very basic right to protest. Give the players a time and place to make this statement.

The issue has never been that you don’t stand against racism or police brutality. The issue was always the ‘how’.

Colin Kaepernick wasn’t wrong that football games are a far reaching mechanism to get the word out. He wasn’t wrong to risk his career defending a desire to make this country better for all.

The misstep was in the ‘how’ and YOU have the power to not only bring us together but to show us you believe in the message.

Kneeling during the anthem will never stop offending certain groups such as veterans. They too have a valid point, paid for by the blood of their fellow veterans. It’s not okay to dismiss their sacrifice, but until the anthem is for all of us – it’s true meaning is lost.

What if the NFL sponsored the protest – provided a time and place? What if before we sing the anthem, we show all Americans that the anthem is for them. Allow players to meet at the center of the field, perhaps wearing black hats. Both teams, all races coming together for a minute of silence on their knees.

Toss out fans who are disrespectful or unsupportive. Putting a stop to racism is that important. Let’s find our solidarity.

When the minute of silence is over, let the players stand united for one country. The land of the free and the home of the brave. Sing the anthem that should be an anthem for all of us.

Respect the message Colin was trying to make while respecting the sacrifices of those who fought for his right to say his message, and his right to protest. It’s an important message.

Maybe if we look at ‘how’ we say our words as well as how important the words are, we can say even more. The ‘how’ speaks volumes by itself.

Let’s end the division and fight for our unity. Let’s kneel together for an America that is better for us all. MLB, NBA, NHL feel free to join the movement.

Maybe this idea still needs to be refined. It’s a great jumping off point. Help us stop fighting over a message we agree upon!

Sincerely,

Vicki L. Pugliese

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Lessons from a Puppy

My puppy is teaching me lessons I should already know about love. She is needy. Plain and simple. And there are consequences to not filling those needs. When I’m not watching closely enough, like most puppies, she’s destructive.

She has needs, like everyone. She needs to be fed, preferably on or before 5:30 pm, in her opinion. She needs to burn off her energy and if I don’t provide that she gets needy in other ways, or she destroys things.

It’s my own fault during this shelter in place, when I don’t meet those needs, if she acts out. While I do get frustrated when she destroys unacceptable items, especially since we have provided her a plethora of acceptable ones, I believe often, her destructive ways are a response to her unmet needs.

She’s a terribly picky pup, as well. She loves to have her face kissed. She wants my full attention, and to have both hands surrounding her enormous head, while I look directly in her eye and smother her face in kisses. One handed, while I’m still looking at my phone, will simply not do. She will drown me in slobber showing me what she needs. I am trying to teach her one kiss is plenty.

Although she prefers butt rubs and belly rubs, she first needs to know that she has my undivided attention. Sometimes I’ll try to get away with rubbing her head or behind her ears while continuing what I was doing, but she is quite frankly the most persistent being I have ever met. She wants love the way she receives it, and she is patiently, or persistently, teaching me how to fill that need.

I wonder today, staring at yet another dog bed with a hole in it and fluff scattered everywhere, why it’s taking me so long to figure this out? Why do I stubbornly insist on loving her differently than how she needs? Why do I call her needy when she has plainly shown me how she wants love and asks for it repeatedly. Maybe it’s time to wonder why I stubbornly withhold what I want to give her anyway?

The parallels in my life elsewhere are easy to see. I receive love in words of affirmation and acts of service. You can bring me presents all day long and not only will I not receive the love you are showing me, eventually it will make me uncomfortable. I have a dear friend who receives love in gifts and sometimes I wonder how we’ve remained friends for so long when we struggle so much to show each other love in the manner that we each need. Yet I love her dearly.

I have this “thing” about adult birthday parties. I can’t explain how uncomfortable they make me, but I am learning to put aside that uncomfortableness to show the people I love who receive love this way, that I care.

Why is that so hard?

It took me years to figure out that I could do my own thing as long as I did it near my husband who just wants proximity and quality time. Sometimes I still stubbornly withhold even that. Why? We’ve been married thirty years, why do I withhold what he needs when he’s my person? I honestly don’t know but I am grateful he loves me anyway.

God is so patient with me. He too, wants my time. Over and over He nudges me to think of Him. Over and over He shows me such grace. His is the love that truly fills me. His is the love I receive best – I simply need to accept it. Like my puppy, God doesn’t tire of my weird obsession to do it my own way. He only needs me to be still for just a moment. Just a moment. Why is that so hard for me?

This afternoon as I sit quietly in my yard, I feel Him near. I feel His love and I feel filled.I am grateful for His persistence and His pursuit of my attention. I am grateful for the puppy He brought into my life to help me learn to love others as they receive and not begrudgingly, forcing them to receive as I do. Only God could show me through a stubborn little Pit Bull, how truly ridiculous I can be.

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

Make America Kind Again

We’re expert judges. Shows like So You Think You Can Dance, Dancing With The Stars, American Idol, The Voice have given us years of experience and a feeling that we’re entitled to notice the mistakes of others. We have no problem, even though we are not in the industries discussing how a contestant is a little “pitchy”.  It’s easy to walk right on passed the line and declare a song or a dance a disaster, as if we could easily do better. Over a decade of judges like Simon Cowell and their harsh comments have desensitized us and sometimes find their way into our own words or at least our thoughts. We easily compare two dancers, singers and even songwriters now, forgetting that each person has their own gifts and strengths.

I can’t throw the first stone. As I have learned what the judges are looking for I now spot those tiny imperfections and jump to give my opinion to those watching with me. Not that I could ever dance or sing at those levels. I dismiss their hard work and dedication and the situation these reality shows have put them in as if it’s an easy undertaking.

Social media is not much different. We judge politicians, and even the general public without knowing these people at all. Sure some of us are very informed, but all of our life experiences and those things we hold dear color our perception of them. Words are taken out of context and compared with something someone else says. And for some unknown reason we have decided it’s fine for us to judge even common people we’ve never met. We make meme’s of silly pictures, ridiculing them. I can count myself among those who quickly share. I do enjoy a good chuckle. 

When social media first took off we were more careful, cautious with our words. We didn’t get into lengthy discussions with others of issues, some of which, don’t really mean that much to us. We simply get caught up in the conversation. Bullying on the internet is a well reported phenomenon and perhaps many of us have found ourselves on one side or the other of biting comments. We know better. We don’t treat each other this way in person. We’re much more apt to hold our tongue when we disagree face to face. Or maybe that’s just me. Little by little we slide. Little by little we change the line of what’s acceptable – so that we no longer expect people to be good citizens, kind and polite. We shrug off bad days and laugh when we feel like “what a B*!ch I was”. Little by little, that becomes the norm. Our language slightly looser than it was a decade ago. We’re actually impressed when someone is a decent human being. Suddenly they’re considered a hero. Someone who kindly brings a meal to the homeless, or helps a child with their bike chain. These are no longer common place and so, now, we consider them special for being so kind.

It didn’t happen all at once. The slip was slow and constant. I have seen the change in myself. In my expectations, my language and my actions. It’s easy to shrug them off instead of being saddened by the change, or embarrassed. It’s not really embarrassing anymore, if everyone around you is the same, is it? Or is that just me.

For me it’s time to turn around. Start the walk back up that slope. Be intentional about acts of kindness. Put others before myself – at least as often as I put myself first. It’s time to take my standards and place them somewhere above my expectations, not below. I’m only one. I can’t change anyone else’s mind. I can’t drag people up the hill with me. But I can openly admit I’m turning around, so at very least there are others out there who might question me if they find me heading back down. Accountability. I need that and if you find yourself on the other end of my unkindness – feel free to point that out. Because I want those standards of years gone by, and if my actions or my words might inspire you to join me – even better.

Today perhaps America or even the world is the tiniest bit kinder because I made that choice.

 

Written By

Vicki L. Pugliese

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