Last Christmas, I Gave You My Heart

Lately everyone’s talking about Christmas gifts: how much to spend or not to spend, what to give, what definitely NOT to give. At my household, we’ve also been planning our Christmas gift list. We decided to go with fewer, more meaningful gifts and my little boy has been wild with ideas.This year, there are many babies and toddlers among our friends and family members. There’s a lot of room to play with when giving to a baby. After all, what does a baby really know about his/her own likes or dislikes? You’re basically starting with a clean slate.

So, my son comes up to me and says, “Hey, Mom! I know what I’m going to give Metroid for Christmas!”

Okay, the baby’s name is not really Metroid, but that’s Beaux’s favorite name these days and he applies it to everything from the neighborhood stray cat to his future (currently non-existent) baby sister, so I’m substituting it for the sake of anonymity.

“Oh, really? What are you going to give Metroid?” I said as I stood at the kitchen sink with my arms up to the elbows in hot, soapy water.

“Just a minute, and I’ll show you!” he said, and then pounded down the hall to his room.

I immediately had this strange and overwhelming feeling that I knew exactly what he was going to get. I felt that fluttering in my chest that I get when I’m about to do some hard-core protesting, so I wiped my hands off quickly knowing that I would need them to yank the thing away so he couldn’t even think about giving it for Christmas.

He came back, and when I saw that faded giraffe teething ring in his five-year-old hands, I remembered seeing it in those same hands when they were first learning to purposely grasp something instead of just doing it out of reflex. When his mouth started going on about how he was going to wrap it, I remembered how that same mouth, minus a bunch of teeth, would drool all over the thing. I remembered how it was the first thing his eyes really noticed. The first thing he liked to laugh at. The only thing that would keep him from really wailing on long trips.

I couldn’t give that away.

I was almost angry inside as I took it gently from him. Not angry at him, but just the very thought of giving that thing to someone who wouldn’t appreciate just how much it meant to me because of what it had meant to him. I laid it on the counter, saying, “That’s really thoughtful of you, but this is special to Mommy, so let’s think of something else to give Metroid for Christmas.”

I finished the dishes while he went foraging for another gift. He got distracted and came back out dressed like SpiBatterman (a morphed Spiderman and Batman). I was relieved. I was glad that we wouldn’t be discussing Christmas gifts any more.

I watched my fast-growing boy as he tried to hit our refrigerator magnets with his Spideyweb and thought again about that giraffe teething toy. I quietly took it into another room and as I squished the soft giraffe face between my fingers, a powerful mental image hit me.

I thought of Mary, Jesus’ mother. Jesus’ mommy. In my mind’s eye, I saw her reminiscing over some memento left over from Jesus’ childhood. Something special that would have pained her to give away. Maybe it was just a soft rag that she’d fashioned into a doll or something, but special to her nonetheless. I imagined that she cherished it long after He was gone.

I thought of God the Father.

It troubled me to realize that God never foraged among His things to find a gift. He didn’t hold an internal debate over giving some special memento, some teething ring that bore the marks of His Son’s affection. He gave His Son.

He gave the precious little hands that had played with that childhood toy, the toothless mouth that had drooled on it, the new eyes that had noticed it for the first time, the laughter, the wailing. He gave the gift that pained Him most to give.

Suddenly, that sweet-faced giraffe shamed me. What a fraud I am. I like to think that I would do anything for anyone and it’s just not true. I felt humbled.

Jesus was once asked, “Of all the commandments, which is the most important?”

Mark 12:29 Jesus replied, “The most important commandment is this: ‘Listen, O Israel! The Lord our God is the one and only Lord. 30 And you must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and all your strength.’[g] 31 The second is equally important: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’[h] No other commandment is greater than these.”

This time next year as I begin my Christmas planning (and being the cheesy person that I am) I want to be able to say, “Last Christmas, I gave you my heart.” I don’t have to care whether it means as much to others as it means to me, I just have to give.

-Lanie Barrett

Sometimes, It’s Okay to be Catty

I was parked in front of a friend’s house and ready to get out of the car when I noticed the old lady across the street. She came slowly out of her house dressed in her nightgown with thick, blue socks rolled down around the tops of her clunky black shoes. A hard scowl pressed her wrinkles into an expression that wasn’t altogether inviting. She stooped to peer at something under the overgrown ferns at the edge of her porch, and I wondered what poor animal was about to get ousted from its comfy spot.

It was a cat, and it wasn’t getting ousted. It twined its soft body around her thin ankles as she laid down a tiny dish of water, spilling only a little when her hands shook. From somewhere came another furry body and that’s when I noticed there were five cats striking various poses of laziness all over her porch.

After seeing the brittle expression on her face, I’m not sure I would have had the nerve to go say hi. I don’t think her lips curved into anything resembling a smile as she greeted her cats. Somehow, though, I don’t think the cats noticed and they greeted her hard grimace with soft, gentle caresses and wrapped their soft tails around her wrinkled legs while she stood there with them.

I thought about that after I left. The old lady didn’t seem to reciprocate the affection she received wrapped in loads of warm fur, but the cats gave it anyway. I remember the times I’ve chosen not to say hi or smile at an elderly individual out of fear that it wouldn’t be welcome. I decided I don’t care if it’s welcome or not, because obviously looks can be deceiving. I decided that sometimes, it’s okay to be catty. I’m going to practice being catty as often as I can and maybe I’ll challenge others to be catty too. Maybe it’ll be someone like you.

-Lanie Barrett
image via cloud_nine

Earning Money to Waste Time

My husband and I recently quit our jobs. Our good-paying jobs. Our insurance-providing jobs. Our retirement-contributing jobs. Our forty- to fifty-hours-a-week jobs.

The jobs were great, but we spent so many hours at work and burned up precious family time on the road fighting traffic. Then, when we were home, we still thought about work. I had a constant lump in my throat that throbbed even while I was nearing the day’s end. I felt that lump during dinner, when the phone rang and I knew something must have come up at Rex’s job. I had to force words past it while I chattered with my four-year-old at bedtime. I would swallow hard and berate myself for worrying about work when I knew very well that the little boy in front of me was more important…

We discussed it for weeks and then decided to dedicate less time to working and more time to living. In the months, weeks, and days leading up to The Last Day of Employment, I grew increasingly nervous and began playing “what if” games.

“What if …
… working less is just a waste of time?”
… we can’t live on the budget we planned?”
… we have to turn right around and get other, less likable jobs?”
… we can’t get health insurance?”
… we burn through our savings and find ourselves on the street?”
… the sky turns a lovely shade of red and scorpions consume the earth?”

I was more than a little nervous.

Then the day came, and I was heading home from work for the last time. Rex was already at his new job, so we were in the midst of adjusting to that. It wasn’t easy. We cut out a lot of extras and lived with less, which I thought hurt a little in the beginning. Now, looking back on it, I’m not really sure that it hurt at all, because living without those extras turned out to be a good thing.

Now, we can rest at the end of the day. We can eat dinner without worrying about a phone call pulling our thoughts from the table and into the worries of another day. Bedtime chatter with our little boy… well it’s still exhausting, but not because our minds are on something relating to work and more because the child never stops talking.

The extras are gone and we have time to waste now, but it’s not wasted; it is lived. I strongly encourage others not to waste time earning money if it’s just about earning money for extras. Think about it at night when you’re getting ready for bed. Have you allowed time for what brings you joy and energy? Or, are you stealing hours from today for tomorrow’s work? Earn money to live; don’t live to earn money.

-Lanie Barrett
image via Leo Reynolds

A Little Blood and Guts Does a Body Good

One Wednesday night a month, The Paseo Gathering commits to some sort of community outreach, and this past Wednesday we made our first visit to Grace Living Center, a local nursing home. When I made the arrangements with the Center’s activities director, she recommended an agenda for the evening and said she was looking forward to it.

We arrived at the nursing home lugging bottles of soda and fingernail polish and a small selection of movies; all the makings for a cozy movie night complete with popcorn. From my home collection, I had picked a couple of movies that I figured would be perfect for those nice, sedate, elderly folks who had entered their twilight years and were happy to shoot the breeze until their “time” had come. I couldn’t help feeling that feeling; the one that says, “I’m going to make someone happy, and that makes me happy.” (I’m still not completely sure how to “do good” without feeling a little proud that I’m doing good. Quite a conundrum, I know.)

One of the women who joined with me also brought along a few movies, and I must admit, I thought mine would go over a little better with the residents. I laid all the movies out for the activities director and she took a vote. “If you want action/adventure, raise your hand,” she said, and I saw a few wrinkled and slightly tremorous hands go up. Then she said, “If you want blood and guts, raise your hand.” Like little children a fraction their age they didn’t really bother with lifting their hands, they simply shouted eagerly for blood and guts.

Let me just say, I am not the one who brought the blood and guts.

I tried not to feel too disappointed that The Saint had lost out to Alien vs. Predator. I have seen both movies, and as cute as that Predator guy is, Val Kilmer beats him hands down. As the movie began, and I went from person to person taking drink orders, I felt two dry and weathered hands grasp one of mine. I stopped thinking about, “Would you like Diet Coke or regular Coke?” and sat next to the woman still holding my hand. She leaned into my side and said, “Thank you so much for coming. This means so much.”

Suddenly, it didn’t matter that I felt good about doing good; the only thing that mattered was that spark of happiness I saw in her eyes. It was just some blood and guts with a little nail polish. It wasn’t anything elaborate or costly and it wasn’t exactly what I planned or envisioned. I realized something that should have been obvious to me before last night: Jesus didn’t do “elaborate or costly” either. He hung out with people and spent time with them on their terms, not His. I don’t know how He felt about doing good, but I like the Man’s style. I’m excited to spend more time with the men and women in that nursing home, on their terms, not mine.

Another thing. Apparently a little blood and guts does a body good, because every person in that room left with a smile on his or her face. Sorry Val.

-Lanie Barrett
image via Helal Al-Helal

Am I loving well enough?

Flowers seem to be the age-old language of love. You receive them at birth before even leaving the hospital and they mark the anniversary of that day every year (maybe). They are clutched with sweaty hands on a first date and held with confidence on the journey down a church aisle. They mark your passing.

I don’t know if it’s bred into little boys to present their loved ones with flowers or not. I tend to think it’s a natural inclination, because Beaux has always brought me “flowers”. He wasn’t taught to do it; he just instinctively wants to give me something pretty. So, every time I send him outside to play, I am, without fail, presented with a cheery yellow dandelion weed.

He asks me to wear it tucked in my hair so he can look at my face and see his present to me at the same time. “Mommy,” he says, “I love you soooo much!” Before much time has passed, the dandelion is drooping down to my cheek and looking a little brown. I have to throw them away when he’s not looking, because I hate to see the sadness in his eyes when I finally have to put it out of its misery.

One morning on our way to the car, he picked a yellow flower for me and said, “I will give you this flower now, and then when you pick me up from school you can give me a flower!” The smile on his face was nearly blinding.

I felt like a chump. I had received so many dandelions from him over his four years of life, but the thought that he might like one given to him never occurred to me. He expresses his love to me through his yellow weeds. Have I been expressing my love to him well enough?

I thought about it the whole time he was at school. By the time I picked him up I was anxious inside. I couldn’t believe how hard my heart was pounding while I gave that kid two red roses with a note attached that said: To Beaux, Thank you for being such a wonderful little boy. I love you soooo much.

He didn’t care about the note, really. He took that off as soon as he could. It was the flowers that he couldn’t stop looking at and smelling. “Sanks, Mommy! You’re my best friend!” he said with a huge grin.

The roses are faded and crackly now, but I’m having a hard time throwing them out. I think someone is going to have to throw them out for me when I’m not looking. The thing is, I still see the roses as they were when I gave them to him. They’re full and red and he’s burying his nose in them and smiling at me as though he can’t believe they are his.

I know there are other ways that I ought to be showing my love to people. Maybe you have those thoughts, too. There are other ways to package love so that the recipient feels the imprint of your love more strongly. What are those ways?

Afraid of other people’s business

I watched a special story on the Denise Amber Lee murder case the other night; one of many true crime stories I’ve seen in my life, but this one struck a cord with me.

Denise Lee was kidnapped from her home while her two young children were in the next room. She was violently raped and then transported across town in the back seat of a Camaro. The car stopped at a cousin’s house where the cousin stood and watched as she struggled with her kidnapper in the front yard and pleaded with him to call the police. Then, he provided the abductor with a flashlight, some gasoline, and (hmmm) a shovel.

Somewhere in the middle of all this Denise had the guts to call 911 from her kidnapper’s cell phone, but the call was cut short and operators were unable to find her location.

Later in interviews, several other motorists admitted to seeing Denise Lee pound on the rear and side windows of the car. They heard her screaming. They saw him slapping her down. With the exception of one woman who actually called 911, they did nothing about it. Denise Lee was later found in a shallow grave where a man named Michael King - a total stranger to Denise - buried her after shooting her in the head.

In my lifetime, I’ve seen how disconnected we as a society have become. It’s easy to get through an entire day without ever once being face-to-face with family, friends, neighbors, or just anyone at all. We all have our own “thing” going. We have our own loved ones, our own belongings, our own problems, and it’s so easy to feel territorial about those things.

The territorial way we feel about our own lives makes it easy to respect or, as in Denise Amber Lee’s case, to even ignore someone else’s family, belongings, or problems. Thinking it was out of respect, a few people who could have done something to prevent her murder looked the other way on the pretext of minding their own business. One man even said, “I thought it was a domestic dispute and I just didn’t want to get involved.”

I’m thinking that looking the other way is not always such a good thing.

What’s wrong with minding someone else’s business sometimes? Is it too much trouble to get involved in the lives of others? To have compassion and empathy for others? To worry about others?

My dad and husband recently prevented one girl’s potential kidnapping when they noticed a young man trying to force her into his car. It took guts and, I realize now, it could have resulted in one or both of them getting shot if the young man had been armed. I know we make ourselves vulnerable by looking out for someone else, but if all it takes is asking the question, “Do you want to go with him?” and a life is preserved, isn’t it worth it?

What do you think? How often do you look the other way because you’re afraid of other people’s business?

-Lanie Barrett
image via YanivG

Do I Trust God More Than My Swimmies?

When I was a fledgling swimmer, Mom always made sure I wore my swimmies in the water. Since she’s always been mortally afraid of any body of water that might be deep enough to consume more than her big toe, she trusted those blown-up tubes of plastic to keep me from drowning. (She was also the one who pushed me to learn how to swim at a very young age.)

Now, my little boy wears the swimmies. I’m trusting those blown-up tubes of plastic to keep that kid afloat, because my heart is kind of tangled up in him.

Beaux was very nervous the first time he wore them. As insurance, he insisted on wearing his life vest and floating ring as well, but he has come a long way since then. He’s down to just his swimmies, and now we’ve started working on his swimming and diving technique. After several days of encouragement, he finally trusts his swimmies enough to jump from the diving board.

It didn’t happen quickly; several minutes passed before he took the first plunge. I watched him stand there on his spindly legs with his skinny arms sticking out at his sides, contemplating the deep blue, and I realized I do that a lot. Whenever I’m about to step out into something new, I stand at the edge with my pulse pounding in my ears and, for a while, the sound of it drowns out the encouragement of others.

After that first hesitant leap, it seemed to get easier for Beaux. He hesitated less and less until he was simply walking off the edge, and then he was jumping in with such abandon that his American flag trunks seemed semi-permanently wedged in his backside. He didn’t even care. He was just excited about his newest accomplishment.

I always hesitate when I feel God is asking me to do something. I stand there on my not-so-spindly legs with my not-so-skinny arms sticking out at my sides and contemplate the deep blue. I’m sure God’s asking me to just put my trust in Him. He will keep me afloat, He assures me. Yet, I don’t take that leap.

I get jealous sometimes of those people who walk around with supernatural wedgies. They are so abandoned in their faith and don’t hesitate at all to jump, while I stand there asking God if He’s sure He’ll be able to pull me back to the surface.

Do I trust my swimmies more than I trust my God?

I making this my new credo:

When I am afraid,
I put my trust in you.
In God, whose word I praise,
in God I trust; I shall not be afraid.
What can flesh do to me? Psalm 54:3-4 (ESV)

-Lanie Barrett

Bringing the Good Times Back

As a wife, mom, daughter, full-time employee, friend, churchgoer, children’s worker, and all the other labels I pinned on myself for so long, I was tired. Each one of those things required a piece of me, and I was giving it all away. Soon, I was a bitter wife, mom, daughter, full-time employee, etc.

I thought I was doing everything right. I volunteered for stuff at church, and I added to my already-extensive duties at work, hoping to prove I was a great employee. Why, if I was doing all this stuff, did I still feel like I’m doing something wrong? Why didn’t I feel rewarded? Why did I just feel tired?

The frustration was overwhelming. I felt like I wasn’t really living!

It turns out, I wasn’t. I was doing it to be good.

‘ “Why do you ask me about what is good?” Jesus replied. “There is only One who is good. If you want to enter life, keep the commandments.”

‘ ” Which ones?” he inquired.

‘Jesus replied, ” ‘You shall not murder, you shall not commit adultery, you shall not steal, you shall not give false testimony, honor your father and mother,’ and ‘love your neighbor as yourself.’”

‘ “All these I have kept,” the young man said. “What do I still lack?”

‘Jesus answered, “If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.”‘

Obviously, I’m not the “he” Jesus was talking to in Matthew, but He speaks to me through these verses today.

If I’m just working to be good or to earn money for more things, I’m working for the wrong reason. That kind of work takes you away from the things that have real meaning in life: family, friends, helping others…

A few months back, I was trying to remember a time in my life that had more meaning. My thoughts took me back to my childhood. I remember a house always filled with people, a bed always open for someone who needed a place to stay, music filling the house produced by my father’s hands, the scent of food on the air from my mother’s kitchen, games in the backyard that consisted of nothing requiring batteries or electricity. There was always something going on, but for some reason, those things had more meaning than anything I had done with my life in recent months and even years.

So, my husband and I simplified. We’re not worried about being good, instead, we’ve downsized our stuff and our income and we’re “entering life”. From my perspective, we’re bringing the good times back.

Now, my house is going to be full of people. There’s always going to be a bed open for someone to crash. While I may not produce my own music, I want to produce reading material that might bring joy to someone else. I’ll let Rex produce the good smells from the kitchen (you don’t want me cooking anything, that’s for sure).

Hopefully, Beaux will be able to look back and recall those things as his “good times”. Hopefully, those memories will remind my son that Jesus never intended us to work at being good, but to work at “entering life.”

What can you do at your home to “enter life” the way Jesus intended life to be?

-Lanie Barrett
image via WadeB

God uses simple things

Nearly every day at 5:00 pm, missionary to Malawi Althea Meyer commits her time to hospital ministry with a team of faithful workers, and they have witnessed the radical impact Jesus makes on both young and old alike. Faced with a rising number of critically ill patients in Malawi and the challenges of ministering in government-run hospitals, Althea and two of her friends rallied others to become the southern Malawi Hospital Ministry.

At their first meeting, the women assembled care packages containing a bag of sugar, soap, and a packet of snacks for 60 patients. They prepared a message and then arranged to visit the ward for children needing special care.
On one occasion, a boy named Pedro arrived at the hospital as an emergency case. He had been playing on the banks of the river that runs through his village, and had just scooped up a handful of water when, suddenly, a crocodile emerged and snapped at his right arm. The animal was successful in the attack and came away with most of the boy’s lower arm.

After Pedro’s surgery, Althea noticed the fear in his mother’s eyes. Though he was in pain, she would not go near her son. Althea soon learned the mother believed her son was bewitched and the curse might pass to her if she touched him. Pedro needed his mother’s assistance if he was going to survive, and her attitude just had to change.
Children’s workers began ministering to the mother, helping her to understand Pedro’s condition and his need for her. They also explained the truth of the gospel, which demonstrates that if there were a curse on Pedro, it could be broken in Jesus’ name. The mother was so desperate in her fear and need that she grasped hold of the gospel message and was set free.

Throughout the following eight months, she stood by Pedro as he struggled through a series of reconstructive surgeries and a lengthy recovery. During this time, Pedro also came to Christ and he and his mother eventually left the hospital with faith in the Lord, new life, and a miracle.

Through simple things like baby dolls and soap, the love of Christ is reaching hundreds in impoverished countries like Malawi. These women took a small first step and God changed the life of an entire family.  What simple, practical things can you do in your own community to exemplify Christ’s love? 

Image via: babasteve