Facing Giants

Every Tuesday evening, my children and I have dinner at my mother's house, kind of a ritual if you want to call it that.  This evening's dinner was much like any other week until mom and I began planning our day together tomorrow.  Tomorrow signifies one year since my dad passed away and I thought it important to spend it with mom.  She has wanted to copyright and e-publish a small book my dad wrote and we were discussing how to go about it.  We came to realize that the word file needed to complete the task was on my dad's laptop, in his office, that hasn't been touched for a year or more. Have you ever felt a problem grow exponentially in front of you?  This is exactly how I felt, because it was my task to sit behind his desk, start his computer and weed through his files looking for one word file that may not even exist, because I was more knowledgeable of where to find it.  I would not have let my mom know then, but I was putting on my brave face.

As I sat behind the screen of his computer, it brought back a flood of memories.  Dad had large hands and spent many a day hard at work outside, he did not have nimble hands that flowed steadily across a laptop keyboard.  He was not computer literate, however, when the typewriter became too archaic to find ribbons, he learned the basics.  I loved that he would create a Sunday school lesson, type it out, save the file, print it and then delete the file.  He was afraid he would use all the hard drive space saving his lessons. Many times dad's hands would fumble across the keyboard during the creation of a lesson and my phone would ring.  Do you know how you feel when you find your cable service, cell phone, etc has outsourced their customer service to a non-English speaking country and you have a large problem with said service?  Our conversations regarding the computer issues went similarly.  Most of the time I would hop in my car or schedule a day that I could come and fix the issue, usually something very simple.  

Today, sitting in front of the computer, looking at the list of the many Bible lessons he finally began saving on his hard drive, I realized this modern piece of technology was his giant.  You probably just cocked your head to the side and said, "huh?"  Let me explain, in case you have forgotten or never heard of the Bible's story of David and Goliath.  David, a young man with only a slingshot and five smooth stones, faces down Goliath, a big behemoth of a man clad in armor wielding a massive sword. David, of course, had God on his side, hit Goliath with said stone right between the eyes and killed him. Goliath should have listened when David said in 1 Samuel 17:47 NIV, "All those gathered here will know that it is not by sword or spear that the Lord saves; for the battle is the Lord’s, and he will give all of you into our hands.”

So, I can imagine my dad sitting behind this modern typewriter, facing down a giant. Knowing very little about how everything works, but seeing the end result as a clear picture of the lesson God had planned for my dad to teach.  Dad would diligently type his lesson, in true hunt and peck style, for hours until it was completed.

Facing that computer today was facing my grief, memories of what many lost when we lost my dad, a true man of God.  I am not sure what all of dad's struggles were throughout his life, but he saw giants in our day to day struggles that ended in battles God could fight for us. He took those and wrote them down in countless lessons I hope to be able to read someday.  I have to be honest, I hoped to find some last letter he wrote to us, but all these treasures are like a map out of any struggle we might face.

I don't know what struggles you face.  What I know is no matter if it is addiction, grief, financial crisis, marriage troubles or any other giant you face, God is bigger.  Romans 8:31 NIV says, "What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?"  With God backing us up all of our Goliath sized struggles seem to shrink.  I will say one thing, I bet my dad had days sitting in front of that computer that he wished he had five smooth stones.  I leave you with the verse that held true through many of my parent's struggles, and one I call to mind frequently, it is found in Luke 1:37 KJV "For with God nothing shall be impossible."

After poring through my dad's computer, I found that word file was sent to my old e-mail address several years ago.  I never had to sit at my dad's desk and open his computer, but then I never would have learned this lesson.

Same Kind of Different

Dad didn't go anywhere without his cowboy hat and his boots.  These two items of clothing were distinctly my dad.  He grew up on a cotton farm in West Texas and earned his status as a true cowboy by riding the range, raising cattle and picking cotton in the sweltering Texas heat.  L.J. Davidson, my grandfather, was an amputee and farmed their cotton with one arm, so my daddy grew up working right alongside.  There wasn't any room for whining, you just pulled up your bootstraps and did what needed to be done. Pearl snap shirts were the norm, not a fashion statement, and I don't think dad ever wore a rhinestone a day in his life.  He would talk about how many people sporting the boots and hat didn't know the back end of a horse from the front, basically that there weren't very many authentic cowboys left.  He was right, more people sporting the signature western attire know the turn of the dance floor of the local honky-tonk better than they know how to saddle a horse or drive cattle.

There was something that spoke "true grit" about the fact that dad wore that hat and boots because he earned it by the sweat of his brow.  I've spoken before about viewing him as my own personal version of John Wayne, he was my hero, the man that would stand up for you and for what he believed.  He had a softer side, the side that held his little granddaughter's hand and took her for walks.  The hand that patted his left hand shirt pocket to make sure he had his little New Testament and his pen.  The man whose tears would flow when he spoke of his love of his family.  This just raised him further into hero status to me, he was better than Superman, he was authentic.  

I guess that is why there was never a reason for me to fill his cowboy boots, so to speak, because I didn't earn them.  I tried my hand at the western life by joining Future Farmers of America in high school and I learned quickly that it was a mold that didn't fit.  However, the one lesson I would like to take from my dad is how to be truly authentic.  When I write these memories, this blog, I write what I feel.  I try very hard not to mask any pain, any mistakes I have made, take away the pretty and bring light to the ugly parts, because I hope it helps one of you.  Even more, I aim to show my most authentic self, that is what my daddy would want from me.

But isn't that exactly what our world today teaches against?  Everything we are exposed to reiterates that we need porcelain veneers, luxury cars and the biggest house our income will allow.  If we can nip, tuck, expand and contract our bodies any more we could probably be sold in a store near you in the toy section, plastic dolls might have more real parts then we do.  How do we maintain our faith in a world like this?  How can anyone believe what we say when we are speaking through these pretty masks made of what the world tells us we should be?  

I didn't do a lot of Bible research for this post, but I literally opened up my Bible app, and this was the verse for the day:

Romans 12:1-3 NIV

Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship. Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will. For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the faith God has distributed to each of you.

Thanks, dad, I think you might have nudged God to send me this one!  God is very clear when He says, "do not conform to the pattern of this world."  See, no amount of money, no amount of rhinestones, no label made by a top fashion designer covers our sin.  No charity work, no large monetary donation, no earthly sacrifice will get us a ride on angel's wings.  God called us to be different, to be so different that we are called foreigners, yet we strive to have what someone else has, we jump at the next shiny new thing.  How then will the unbeliever see the difference in us?

We forget that in God's eyes we wear splendor in our souls, our beauty is in our authenticity, our value is only in our love for our God.  In 1 Peter 2:9-12 NIV we are told, "But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy. Dear friends, I urge you, as foreigners and exiles, to abstain from sinful desires, which wage war against your soul. Live such good lives among the pagans that, though they accuse you of doing wrong, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day he visits us."

God calls us to be our authentic selves.  I, Stephanie Colleen Davidson-Rush, live in a small house that may have toys scattered about on any given day, I drive a used car, and my little house has about twelve renovations either currently in progress or needing to be started.  My bank account wouldn't buy a small country, but it pays my bills.  God gifted me with the talent to paint and a heart too sensitive and sometimes easily injured.  My most treasured possessions in this life are my dear husband, my sweet babies, my family and my friends of whom for each one I would give my life.  I sin every day, I am forgiven every day by a grace immeasurable in my tiny brain, I serve a God bigger than anything and my prayer tonight is one day I hold each one of your hands in Heaven.  I hope I have a chance to see the real you, your true self, love the ugly and the pretty, give a hug in a hard time and celebrate a good time.  This is me, the real me, no mask, just the same kind of different.

Bittersweet Memories

There are memories that are bittersweet, mostly bitter and not so much sweet.  With that said, I hate cancer.  It robbed my mother of the love of her life, my kids of a doting grandfather, my sisters and I of our father.  Memories of my father with cancer are some of the hardest memories I have to carry.  Hearing the painful surgeries they undergo that make you physically ill, wondering if you have made the right medical decisions, sitting beside them as they struggle for comfort in a hospital bed.  These memories are hardest to bear, the weight of them sometime make my heart so heavy that tears seem to be my only release. 

We all lose someone dear to us in our lives, no one is immune to death.  For some it comes quickly and for others it is a slow journey.  It does not make it any easier whether you have had them for three days or ninety-three years, love doesn't have a timeline.  The question has been raised many times when a child passes away or someone dies at a young age why God allows such tragedy to happen.  I wish I could sit down with God and ask that same question, but there is one truth that is very apparent to me, whether one day or fifty thousand days it is never enough with someone you love. 

I think Job was God's best example of how we might be tested in walking beside Him.  God allowed Job to be tested, He knew Job was strong enough to pass the test.  Job cried out and questioned his very existence, Job 3:11 NIV, “Why did I not perish at birth, and die as I came from the womb?"  His grief was immeasurable, he lost all his children, he as wrought with disease, but he only questioned what he had done, what sin he committed.  I challenge you, especially if you feel grief or even anger towards God, to read the Bible's account of Job's life.  I find no coincidence that our Bibles follow Job with Psalms, a book of prayer and hymns to soothe our souls after hearing Job's harrowing tale.

For those of you who sympathize with me because you too have lost someone that you dearly loved, I leave you with this.  One evening, I received a MMS message from my sister of some of the first words my dad had written after his surgeries.  I happened to be listening to "Fix You" by Coldplay and it touched me deeply.  After replying to my sister, I believe including something about how the kids and I loved him, we received a picture of dad holding a hand written sign ”Love is a very splendid thing".   The day my dad passed, we played country gospel hymns all day, each of us got time with him to tell him how much he was loved, we each held his hand and got a strong squeeze to all our conversations.  God's hand touched everything that day, right down to "This Little Light of Mine" playing as he took his final breathe.  These are bittersweet memories, God chose to heal my dad in Heaven, there was no medical miracle.  But, I have faith that God brought my dad to Heaven at just the right time, as I believe for every other person I have lost in my life.  My dad impacted my life over 36 years, a little boy of only 4 years old did too, friends from high school who were gone too soon did in yet other ways.  God will use every person's time here to bless those around them, we only have to have faith in God's timing. 

Next week will mark the anniversary of my dad's last day on earth and his first day in Heaven.  I see his legacy carry on every day.  The only prayers I have is that I am able to carry on that legacy in my own family and to as many others as God will allow me.  May you find a similar peace, a purpose, something to heal your soul.

Time for Change

Several years ago, my husband and I had to face a huge failure in our lives.  We had been living a life many would call "the American dream.". We had bought our first home, he had a really great job, things were going well.  Within a year the economy began to take a turn and his commissioned position was not looking as bright.  After making several decisions that were probably not the best at the time, we lost everything.  Our home, our cars, our security, we were bankrupt.  The stress of everything was terrible, our lives were a shambles and we were scrambling to hold on to anything we could. I don't know if any of you have suffered a dark place in your life, but my value as a person felt shaken. 

It isn't until years later, a bankruptcy, two moves and a lot of penny pinching that we are back on the right track.  As the old saying goes, "Hind sight is twenty-twenty".  First, I have to be transparent, we did not ask for God's blessing in any of the decisions we made leading up to the purchase of our first home.  We felt blessed to be able to do so, however, it was a blessing undeserved.  We saw the chance to take it, we desired it and so we reached out and took it.  We, as a couple, had put a fair amount of our value into the stuff we had.  We tried our best to drive the right car, wear the right clothes and look the part of middle class America.  Our value was in stuff.  Everything we did was to amass more stuff, better stuff, improve our status. When we lost it all it felt as if we lost our life, what was owed to us, our inheritance.  Inheritance.  That word got me thinking, and my thoughts led me to a memory.

My dad loved collecting wheat pennies.  I remember at a young age realizing this and I began searching out these treasures for my father.  They were so valuable to him that he paid me ten cents for each one, enough motivation as a child to send me looking under vending machines and watching parking lots to collect more pennies.  Even as an adult, if I found one of these rarities, I would peek into whatever room he was in and ask, "Hey, dad, I found a wheat penny, how much you gonna give me for it?". There was no inflation on my finds, ten cents was the contractual agreement and they were never worth more.  What dad may not have realized is the value I placed in those small exchanges, much more than my ten cent reward.

I never understood the value of these moments in time until they were gone.  I could ask for these pennies as some inheritance from my mom, some tangible piece of those exchanges.  But, my inheritance doesn't lie in a thousand wheat pennies, it lies in the brief 35 years I was able to spend with my father.  In comes the forehead smacking moment.  My inheritance is time, our value is T-I-M-E.  The past few days I have searched for a verse to invoke the feeling I am trying to express and literally as I write it came to me.  In Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 KJV, it says, "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace."

There is a time for everything.  When we invest one more hour of time working while our children beg for our attention, we put our value in work.  When we pass by the hungry homeless man on the street as we walk into church, we put our value in religion.  When we eat our dinners in front of the television instead of surrounded by our family at the table, we place value in famous people.  When we meet a friend for coffee and spend more time posting the calories we ate, miles we ran, new purchase we made, we put value in social media attention. 

Now, I write about these issues because they are my issues.  Trust me when I say, I am guilty of all charges.  But, I seek out these flaws to invoke change in myself and, hopefully, someone else.  So, my second head smacking realization came here, of the years I have left in my life, my value so to speak, where will I spend it?  A very wise woman, my mother, once told me L-O-V-E is spelled T-I-M-E. 

So, on this eve of a made up holiday to celebrate love, I will leave you with a blip from one of my favorite bands, "Where you invest your love, you invest your life.".  It goes without speaking where God invested His love, me, you, our families, our neighbors, that homeless guy on the corner, the Goth that walked into church last Sunday, the kid whose bruises you accidentally saw.  Where will you invest your time, your love, the value of whatever time you have left?

Driving Directions

The bottom left hand drawer of my dad's desk is where he kept his direction.  I say this with a smile, because in that drawer are housed numerous maps and atlases of every shape and size.  Often as a young woman I would ask my dad how to find my way from one place to another and out these maps and atlases would come.  We would sit side by side, his work worn hands tracing the paths I could take to my destination.  Many times the conversation would turn to various landmarks that would mark my way, the best place for coffee and pie or some long lost memory of a past trip taken to any of these highways and byways.

Some of my best childhood memories were of days when our large brood packed up in the maxi van, picnic lunch packed in a cooler, no destination in sight-we just drove.  We would eventually find a park or rest stop where mom would unpack the wares from the cooler, let us kids get some energy out running aimlessly at play and then we would load back up and find our way home.  Getting lost became one of my favorite past times.  Finding hidden places that were our versions of a secret garden, places we may or may not ever find again.  Dad would often bring out the maps later to find exactly where we had been.  It may come as a surprise, but I never remember being lost with my dad behind the wheel.

It is comical to me that I never see the lesson I am supposed to write about before it takes shape as I type these very words, but it becomes so obvious as the paragraphs take shape.  It is even more comical how I find the relationship to what God teaches me in these lessons, especially this one.  My daughter and I were watching television one night and as we were watching the channels began to blink "333" over and over without reason.  We had not been able to find the remote earlier so it seemed to be changing on it's own.  My first thought was, "Better look that verse up in my Bible app". 

When I looked it up it led me to Exodus 33:3 that speaks of the land flowing with milk and honey and a piece of the story of the Israelites exodus from Egypt.  Did you know the Israelites wandered in the desert for 40 years?  Joshua 5:6 NIV says, "The Israelites had moved about in the wilderness forty years until all the men who were of military age when they left Egypt had died, since they had not obeyed the Lord . For the Lord had sworn to them that they would not see the land he had solemnly promised their ancestors to give us, a land flowing with milk and honey.".   In reading this part of the Old Testament in my attempt to read the Bible through, I found myself slapping my hand to my head numerous times upon hearing of yet another instance where the Israelites failed to follow God's direction.  Perhaps they would not have been going around in circles if God could have unfolded a map for the Israelites and shown them with his own hands the highways and byways they needed to travel to make it to their destination.  The world will never know, because the Israelites were a stubborn lot and didn't listen to God's verbal instruction either, thus the forty years of aimless travel.

And this is where I had another forehead smacking moment, and a realization I am not so different from those stubborn Israelites.  I have often thought of my walk with God as one of those build your own ending books I would read as a kid.  You know, make this choice and your ending is on this page, make a different choice and it ends on an entirely different page?  I have travelled a lot of circular paths on the journey I am on with God as my guide.  Sometimes I am sure my guardian angel took up drinking because of me.  But, the cool thing is, no matter how far off the beaten path I get, no matter how many wrong turns I take, God is never lost.  No matter how little gas I have in my engine and how many flat tires I am riding on, God is there to guide me safely back home.  Whatever page I turn, path I take or circle I continue to run in, God places His gentle hand behind me and whispers, "No, Sweetheart.  Go this way, there is good pie and hot coffee, here is your landmark, here is your safe way home.". 

How did my dad know to take those trips and show me those maps to lead me here?  I don't know but I will leave you with two things.  First, we found the remote wrapped in an unfolded blanket by my daughter's foot that was causing those channels to flash "333", coincidence?  Second, I share my dad's favorite verses and a very fitting reason to why he and I and many others choose our path with God by our side.  May you find some direction in Psalms 1:1-6 KJV, "Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful. But his delight is in the law of the Lord ; and in his law doth he meditate day and night. And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper. The ungodly are not so: but are like the chaff which the wind driveth away. Therefore the ungodly shall not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous. For the Lord knoweth the way of the righteous: but the way of the ungodly shall perish."

The Beauty of His Words

In a world where our lives are engulfed in a plethora of social media posts and pins, I am one of the rare birds that appreciates the written word.  Not typed or hash-tagged, smiley-faced or pinned, but the tilt of hand, ink to paper, a hard-copied print of one person's signature on the world.  I post, pin and smiley face as much as anyone else, this blog wouldn't exist otherwise.  However, making a recipe your grandma wrote on an index card, finding a long forgotten love letter, or seeing your child's carefully printed first attempt of their name are things of beauty to me.  My sister Shelly has a beautiful love of family history, and it was an idea she suggested that has become one of my most treasured possessions from my father.

Many years ago, instead of dropping our pennies in a greeting card store's cash register, we began giving affirmations to one another on each person's birthday.  This started out as a somewhat awkward exchange of spoken affirmations of what that person meant to every member of the family, but it grew into an exchange of beautifully handwritten cards.  All those years ago, I never would have guessed these would become such a treasured part of the memories of my dad.  I would get my last affirmation card from him a mere month before he passed away, a simple shakily scrawled "Happy Birthday" and "I love you" signed "Dad" that would become a priceless memory.  I continue finding most of the notes he penned me, words of wisdom and love, that have almost become dad's little instruction book to me.

It is funny my post has turned to the importance of the written word, because as I was composing my last post and switching back and forth from the apps I use for blogging and the Bible, I received another message from my dad.  To be honest it made me chuckle, because it was a debate we had often and a debate that showed how equally stubborn we both are.  Some of you may think I am crazy, but one of my dear sisters reminded me that the veil between earth and Heaven is thin.  I feel my dad's direction many times, and on this particular day, I would almost bet money he was leaning over my shoulder, reading my post, listening to my thoughts and directing me as to where I needed to go next.

One of the most poignant memories I have is of my dad crouched over his well-worn Bible in his office studying God's Word, a memory so powerful I still imagine my dad merely in his office studying when I visit my mom.  My dad loved God's word, specifically the King James Version of it, and he spent many hours poring over it's passages.  Dad took the mantra "hiding God's Word in your heart" very seriously and Scripture passages would almost bubble out of him while in conversation.  He was remarkably accurate and most often could recall the chapter and verse for reference.  He loved the King James translation of the Bible and purported it as the most accurate translation out there, and that is where the debate began with his stubborn youngest daughter.

As I mentioned before, I spent most of my late teens and early twenties in an intense, angry temper tantrum with God that didn't allow for a lot of Bible study.  I was armed with just enough Bible knowledge to be dangerous, but I was going to use it to it's full potential.  Many times a conversation with dad would twist me into a tightly wound cord and he would quietly sit there and let me rant until I wore myself out.

When I finally made peace with God and began attending church more regularly, I found the New International Version of the Bible illuminated scripture for me.  It was almost as if it was a language I had finally decoded and I understood what God was saying.  I remember several discussions with my dad as to why I had chosen this version, and the conversation usually ended in me confessing that it was my simple mind that couldn't get past the "thou's" and "thee's" to get to the real message God had for me.  Dad stated his case for the KJV at any chance he got, with me and many others.  He never ranted or raved, he would simply hand you books about the KJV and ask you to take a look at them.  So, when I felt my last post needed some Scripture references I began looking in the NIV for one that came to mind, only to realize my memory is in the KJV.  Switching to the King James I easily located it, looked at the the New International to compare, and that is when I realized something.

I received the same illumination of Scripture I had but while reading the King James, this had to have made my dad leap for joy on the golden streets of Heaven because I shook my head and said, "Okay, dad, I get it".  I realized what I had been missing was the power, the beauty behind God's Word.  One pastor spoke of this in reference to Creation saying he had no doubt that when God said "Let there be light" that it made quite a big bang!  And that was the lesson God sent me through my dad, there is power in the word of God. 

I find when I read from the King James my voice changes in my head, like I am channeling some powerful force, some superhero of the universe and I am trying to make that come alive with each word.   It says in Psalms 33:6-7, 9 KJV, "By the word of the Lord were the heavens made; and all the host of them by the breath of his mouth. He gathereth the waters of the sea together as an heap: he layeth up the depth in storehouses. For he spake, and it was done; he commanded, and it stood fast".  The voice I use in my head to read those powerful words doesn't even compare to a voice that can stop a tsunami in it's path or harness a red giant star with a mere breath.  So, the next time your world seems to be hanging onto nothing, when your job is too stressful, when you are mourning someone with a terminal illness, when one more thing crunches your finances or someone cuts your soul deeper with hurtful words remember that there is power in God's word.  His strength abounds within it's pages, whether it be the King James, New International, the Message, God will speak to you.  

Take to heart David's words in Psalms 119:105 KJV, "Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path" and, so you know, I used reference only from the King James, insert big goofy smile here.  Be proud, Dad, be proud!

Making Mistakes

As a parent, one of the things I feel necessary to teach my children is that not all their paths will be broad and smoothly paved.  In fact, it is likely that their path will be full of boulders, briers and brambles as well as plenty of "gray areas".  My most recent struggle is how to teach my daughter to maintain her values while being respectful to other's choices.  Christ was the best example of this in how he handled conversations with the woman at the well, Zacchaeus the tax collector and even the Pharisees and Sadducees, to name a few.  How do we teach our children these same principles in a society wrought with rants between heterosexual and homosexual, Christian and Atheist, Pro-Lifers and  Pro-Choicers, Republican and Democrat and the list goes on and on?  Can you teach your children how without allowing them to make mistakes?

Early on in my dad's life, he made a huge mistake.  It was probably not the first and certainly wasn't the last.  Some of you will be aware of this darker part of my dad's life and to others it will come as a surprise.  Many years ago, my dad made one of the biggest mistakes of his life, a decision that almost cost him his life.  Partying with his friends, before the time of organizations like MADD and reenactments at the local high school, my dad got into the car with a drunk driver.  Probably driving too fast, the truck hit an electrical guide wire, and though the details are sketchy, my dad was thrown from the truck.  Be aware that this was the mid-1950's, not the height of medical technology, and my dad sustained a head injury.  I cannot imagine what it felt like to be L.J. and Jenni Davidson that day, to be there as the doctor walked in shaking his head, saying things like 'only time will tell'. That is when my grandparents began an almost month long waiting game.  I never got the chance to ask my grandma about that time, but I am sure the turmoil in their hearts was beyond measure.  As the doctors had all but given up almost 30 days later, my dad would open his eyes and begin his road to recovery.  He would carry some of the external scars throughout his life as he never regained 100% use of his right side, lost his smell and taste and, this was always a joke between the two of us, he had rocks in his head.  The emotional scars, well, he did not share those as openly, but if you looked in his eyes while he told that story you could see the deep disappointment he felt for having made those choices.

Dad's bad choices and being open about them did not keep me from making my own set of bad choices.  My poor choice almost cost me my life on more than one occasion.  As a happy go lucky high school student, I fell into a relationship with a boy.  To me he wasn't just a "boy".  He was a member of the football team, known by many, and my link to those just a little higher on the food chain, you might say.  My first brush with death would come with hands around my throat, I would remember seeing spots in my eyes and gathering some inhuman strength to fight from their grasp.  Several others would be delivered from the same hands.  My next brush with death's door came by my own hands, this story I will share.  

Leaving someone intent on possession is not simple, protective and restraining orders have their loopholes, and I needed to get out of Dodge.  I moved in with a sister, leaving no forwarding address and no phone number to reach me.  Only my most trusted friends were given any of my information.  During this time, my sister married, and began the uncertain journey as a newlywed.  We were both walking a very misty path, and to be honest, I was not fully open with everyone regarding my situation.  I had a particularly lonely week when I made the decision to end my life, even with loving people around me I was struggling with a darkness the size of a black hole.  I lie in my bed, after ten in the evening, waiting for the sounds of sleep to drift from my sister's room.  It was as I was intently thinking of gathering the implements of my destruction that my phone began to ring.  I picked up to hear my mother's voice, her words will bring chills to me even know.  She said she couldn't sleep, that she was worried about me and to pack my stuff and move home.  I managed to finish my conversation with her before crying myself to sleep.  

You will find my journey and my struggle to maintain a relationship with God did not end here as I continue sharing stories, and I don't feel my dad's struggles did either.  I think this is why I saw him cleave so whole-heartedly to Christ, because the burden of those mistakes and the fear of repeating them were then carried by God's power and not his own.  I accepted Christ at a fairly young age, but I would not truly "meet Christ" until much later in my life.

My intention here is not to spew doctrine, and not to qualify what is and is not a sin, I rely on the truth that God will meet you where you are and reveal to you those things.  However, this is where the definitions get a bit sketchy to me, we are supposed to use Christ as an example for our own lives, we are supposed to love and not judge and yet still adhere to the Bible's teachings.  I see all too often that my fellow Christians and I, are so busy removing the splinters out of other's lives that we miss the telephone poles in our own.  I fell victim to this feeling of not being "worthy of God" very early on in my life, the harsh reality that my church family abandoned me when sin entered in my life, a scar that left an almost decade long stand-off with God.  I must be transparent and express that I had many angry, fist-shaking talks with God during that period of my life.  I said things that an earthly father would have taken to corporal punishment to cure, I continued doing all the things I thought would fill the void, I judged everyone I could judge as homage to what was done to me, anger ruled my life.  When I walked into church, I immediately felt the weight of judgement upon me, and let me tell you, I made sure I was spit-shined, carrying my Bible, singing every hymn and bowing my head in prayer at all appropriate times.  But, what if I walked in holding the hand of another woman, what if I walked in dirty from homelessness, what if I walked in high on drugs, what if I walked in as a prostitute, or an abusive husband, or an unfaithful spouse, would we open our arms and engulf those sins in the love of Christ or would the desire to judge be so overwhelming that we alienated someone from God's grace?

And I guess this is where my story turns into the lesson learned and the one I will continue to share with my children, both from dad's life and my own mistakes, God meets you wherever you are.  It says in Psalms 139:15-16 NIV, "My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.".   Whether you love God, or don't believe in Him, whether you are heterosexual or gay, whether you are Republican or Democrat, God knew who you would be, your struggles and your triumphs!  We are ALL fearfully and wonderfully made, sinner, sinner saved by grace, adults, children, animals, plants.  See, it says in 2 Timothy 1:7 KJV, "For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.".  God isn't into "I told you so's" and I imagine there are plenty of humans to disregard His views on passing judgement to do a mighty fine job of delivering those for Him.  

God is a God of grace.  I won't deliver verse after verse on why, how or when we see it in the Bible, but I will deliver my own personal observation.  When my dad lay in a hospital bed unconscious for 30 days and woke up after making a bad choice, THAT was God's grace.  Delivering me from the grasp of someone's anger who I allowed to hold me there, God's grace.  When my mother rang me late one night and saved my life when I was intent on taking it, God's grace.  God didn't bring out the 10 commandments or the wrath of His judgement on our sin.  He brought the power of deliverance, the love of healing and the sound mind we needed to save us from our own foolishness.  He can and He will meet you wherever you are and change you in ways you never thought possible or even imagined.