when your kid's the bully

Well, I found a worthy topic to write about for this week’s entry. Unfortunately, it’s one that, as a mother, causes me great pain. My kid, the bully. Never thought I’d have to say or write that. My kid, my sweet angelic boy, who looks me in the eye and melts my heart when he says, “I love you mommy.” Yea, that kid. What heartbreak I’m experiencing tonight. My kid was bullying, picking on someone because he could, and because he thought it was funny.

Earlier in the day, he, my daughter, and another friend were playing outside. I had asked them to stay in our yard. However, when I went to check on them a few minutes later, I saw them running down the sidewalk. Not thinking too much about it, I called them back and reminded them that they were to play in our yard only. A few moments later, I caught them running down the sidewalk again. But this time I noticed something else, a little boy further down the sidewalk was running away from my three. When I called this little guy over I asked if anything was wrong. Of course, my children told me that this boy was bugging them. Naturally, as a mom I like to believe that my children are telling the truth so I asked the little guy if he was doing anything to bother them. He replied no and walked away.

A few hours later, after we’d had supper, my son asked me to go on a bike ride with him. As we were riding around the neighborhood, the incident from that afternoon popped into my head. For some reason, I began asking questions about it. I had a sneaking suspicion that all wasn’t as it had seemed to be; that I hadn’t been told the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I won’t go into detail about what happened, but after my son shared the real story, it became all too apparent that he had bullied this other child. Not only that, but my daughter was laughing right along with them.

Bullying. We talk about it a lot these days. To the point that, in our household, we have zero tolerance for it. Our kids know that it is unacceptable to bully. As a child, my husband was picked on for his size, so he knows firsthand what it feels like. I, on the other hand, was the “cool kid” -  never in danger of being bullied. Well, cool not so much, but it didn’t hurt that I went to a Christian school. We were all pretty close and saw no need to pick on, oh, wait a minute. Yea, I forgot about that one - the kid in our school who dressed like Michael Jackson, silver glove and all. Yea, we made fun of him and even if I wasn’t the one taunting, I was just as bad, I was laughing. Other than that we were pretty good though, we really, oh wait, there was that other time. The time the token “fat kid” in the class fell off the stage at our spring production. Yea, we got a lot of laughs out of that one too.

I guess I don’t have to look too far when it comes to this issue of bullying. I can take a good long look in the mirror and realize that I’m as guilty as the rest. I’ve been there. I’ve done that. I’ve laughed at someone’s pain - at someone’s shame. I’m thinking about those times in my life when I’ve had the opportunity to stick up for someone who was being bullied and I didn’t. And as I write this, I’m tearing up because when I had to face this boy’s mother and tell her what had happened, I saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. She felt pain for her little one, and I felt heartache, because my son had caused this pain.

Tonight, both our kids have gone to bed early. They are being punished, and we’re hoping that from this point on they’ll remember that it’s not only wrong to bully someone else, it’s wrong to laugh at it, and do nothing to help the person who’s getting picked on.

I guess I’ll end with a bible verse because it seems to be the appropriate thing to do. When I looked through the bible however, the word bully was nowhere to be found. But I think one of the verses I did find applies pretty well to this or any other kind of bullying situation.  

Psalm 41:1 Blessed is the one who has regard for the weak; the Lord delivers him in times of trouble.

Enough said.

September 11, 2001

This was a piece I wrote shortly after the tragedy of 9/11. It came from my personal struggle with the age-old problem - why does a good God allow such things to happen? While I have no immediate answers to that, there are two verses that intrigue me when it comes to this question that seems to have no answer. 

Lamentations 3:32-33  Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love. For he does not willingly bring affliction or grief to the children of men.

 

9-11

By Nici S. Meyer

 

The unbelievable happens

The unshakable suddenly becomes shakable,

And we are left wondering, questioning,

Why, how,

How could this happen?

 

A nation mourns and

a people gather together

to sift throught the ashes,

To make sense of the madness

And to question once again,

Why and how

How could this happen?

 

In the midst of the rubble,

Remnants of memos and

faxes of the day’s business are buried.

 

In the places where important business

And international affairs

Were moments ago being carried out,

Important business is now

Reduced to dust and ashes .

 

Human lives are buried here now.

In light of this, faxes and memos

Don’t seem so important anymore.

And still a nation mourns asking

why and how

how could this happen?

 

We are left with wounded hearts

And crushed spirits.

We lift our eyes to the heavens, seeking answers,

Mourning the loss that echoes across

the centuries:

Loss of human life,

Loss of certainty,

Loss of peace,

Loss of Paradise and a world without evil.

 

For the first time in a long time,

We realize as a nation that we are not unshakable,

We are not immovable;

That we truly are frail and vulnerable,

Because we are human.

In that vulnerability, we ask

Why, how, how could this happen?

 

Who or what was the cause of this unspeakable act?

Could one being alone have masterminded,

Plotted and schemed

To bring about this destruction,

This terror, this evil?

 

Evil is not prejudiced.

It does not dwell in the hearts

Of only one people,

Nation, culture, or creed.

It dwells in the hearts of us all.

 

Our own hearts condemn us when

We turn our mourning and sorrow

Into an excuse for bitterness and

Build up walls of hatred,

Rather than learning how to love,

How to forgive.

 

Still, the age old question rings out.

How could God, allow this to happen?

where was He?

 

Our God is not a God of the past.

He is right here, right now.

 

Perhaps, could we climb to the highest heavens today,

We would stand with him in his Sanctuary

And witness tears of

Anguish rolling down his cheeks.

Tears of grief, tears of emotion,

Tears of a parent,

Mourning this fallen and sinful world,

In which evil sometimes

Appears to be the conquering hero.

 

But evil is not the conquering hero.

Our conquering hero is Jesus Christ, himself.

God’s Son, sent to suffer and

Die for the evil that has dwelt

In every single human heart,

Except his own.

 

His heart’s blood was

Spilled out for our own tainted blood.

He was the world’s original blood donor,

And by his wounds we are healed.

 

His resurrection assures us of our salvation and

HIS VICTORY

RINGS OUT ON EVEN

THE DARKEST OF DAYS,

IN EVEN THE DARKEST OF PLACES.

 

So we can set our questions,

Our anxieties, and even our fears aside

And we can say with assurance,

Death is swallowed up in victory.

O death, where is your victory.

O death, where is your sting?

Lord, could you move a little faster – pretty please?

Instill – to introduce by gradual instruction, to pour in slowly by drops.

Do you have a destination in mind? I mean is there a place in your life you want to be? A status you desire; mom, husband, girlfriend, fiancé, dad? Is there a happily ever after you haven’t attained and, for the life of you, you can’t figure out why. Well, I know it’s horribly overused, but yes, I’ll say it anyway – the grass isn’t always greener. Don’t you hate it when people tell you that? It’s okay. Go on and despise me if you will. I still have something to say, or rather, write.

My first experiences of longing for greener pastures came during my childhood. I don’t know about you, but for me growing up took way too long. I wanted to be just a little bit taller or faster. I wanted a boyfriend, wanted to drive a car. When would I ever be able to make my own decisions and gain access to the freedoms that grown-ups had?

When I was in college it was another desire that nearly drove me crazy. I was single. I wanted a boyfriend. Why couldn’t I date the person that I wanted when I wanted? Then at the ripe old age of twenty-two I decided it was time to meet my future husband. Did you catch that? I decided. It was time. So where was he, my husband-to-be? It hurt to be alone. I longed to have someone who would cheer me up or cuddle with me when I was sad. I wanted to be married, darn it, and God just wasn’t moving fast enough.

But right around the age of twenty-six – the age I thought I would be married by, something occurred to me. The startling revelation? I would never get the chance to be single again. Never. Ever. Why not enjoy it while it lasted? So I did, for the most part. Don’t get me wrong, I pined and whined at times for that special person to come into my life. But God was teaching me a valuable lesson even then – don’t wish your life away. After all, I lived in a beautiful home with four other women, and we were having a blast. The décor was mid 70’s right down to the green shag carpet and orange countertops. We didn’t care. It was our home – perfect for the five of us, and we were reveling in it.

Fast forward about three years when my future hubby came into my life. He was perfect for me – such a joy and blessing. I couldn’t have asked for better. What’s more, now that I’d gloried in my single years, I was ready to be married. I didn’t have regrets, didn’t experience any “what ifs”. God had brought the perfect guy into my life at the perfect time, and it was, well, perfect.

Two years later, little Jack entered into our lives. How easy it would have been to long for the late night feedings, and the crying, and the changing of diapers to be over. Done. Finito. But God in his wisdom had prepared me for these years, too. Once again, I realized something very important. My child would never be this age again. I would never get to cuddle him, or hold him, or play peek-a-boo with him like I could now. I was reminded that each day with him was priceless – a gift to be treasured.

Fast forward a few years later  - aaah the joys of potty training. Yea, I could have skipped right over that stage. But, hold on, was there a lesson that God was trying to teach me even then? Teaching me in a way that couldn’t be rushed. Did God have a plan for even potty training? Maybe. He cares about every detail of our lives after all. So yes, I suppose there were lessons to be learned even in the baptismal fires of potty-training.

Instill. Love the word.  Love it. It was a word that I stumbled across when I was a new college graduate. I think the reason I liked it so much was because it made sense to me. As a teacher, I longed to instill lessons in my students’ lives. And, as any good teacher will tell you, the lessons your students really grasp are the ones you teach them over and over again, drop by drop.

So why should God do anything less? The lessons he wants us to learn can only be instilled drop by drop. Yes, sometimes the process seems painstakingly slow, but we can trust the Lord, the one who is doing the instilling.

I want a God who will keep me growing in the right direction. I want to know that the lessons he’s teaching me will last even into eternity. Waiting is no fun. It’s hard - no getting around that. But, in the midst of the delay remember something – God is not punishing you, nor is he slow to act. He’s just a really good tutor.  

Meet Me in St. Louis - Part Three

Ready for Part Three? After all, the best stories always come in threes, don’t they? Part One of this silly story was about my discovery that the writing workshop I was attending was in St. Louis and not Seward, NE. Part Two was about what I experienced on my flight to St. Louis. So without further ado, the much anticipated Part Three of Meet Me in St. Louis.

Ever since my adventures in St. Louis, I’ve realized something about myself. I am a worrier. Well, actually I’ve always realized this, but it became even more clear once I’d returned home from my travels. You see, while I was in St. Louis it was a step-by-step thing. I was already so overwhelmed by being there in the first place that I had to take it one moment at a time.

From the beginning of this crazy adventure, I leaned on God like I hadn’t for a long time. When I was still a swinging single, I was used to doing things on my own. I was much more independent with a “ready for anything” kind of attitude. That’s the way it was because that’s the way it had to be. Since becoming a stay-at-home mom, my boundaries and my carefree spirit have shrunk considerably. I feel secure in my home with my kids and the routine that I’ve established. A routine that is so familiar, so safe, so comfortable. Problem is, when I’m in my comfort zone, it’s easy to forget what it’s like to depend on God for everything.

So you might say that this trip gave me a little kick in the pants. That’s okay. It was a kick in the pants that I needed. Depending on God throughout this adventure was the only way I could deal with how overwhelmed I felt. And just to set the record straight - God did not disappoint.

When I got off the plane, I faced my first challenge – finding a cab. Turns out it was pretty easy. It doesn’t hurt that I have a husband who travels to St. Louis frequently. He gave me tips to make the journey as painless as possible. Things like writing down the address for the driver. Asking if he took credit cards. Yup, didn’t hurt that my hubby had gone this route a few times.

When I arrived on campus, my first task was to find a place to eat. Knowing nothing about the area, I thought it would be best to eat at the school’s cafeteria. Problem being, who would I sit by? I walked into the cafeteria praying for a place to sit that wouldn’t make me feel so conspicuous. Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the seating area and looked around. There were several groups of people sitting together, but there was one man sitting alone. I felt a prompting to go sit by him, but the chicken in me didn’t want to take the risk. Then, aaaw, what the heck. I’m already way out of my comfort zone why not take another step? So I sat down across the table from him and introduced myself. While we made small talk, I couldn’t help noticing that he had a name tag on. Out of curiousity I asked him what he was on campus for. Even before he responded, I knew what he was going to say, he was here for the same faith and writing workshop that I was.

Coincidence? I think not. From then on, this pastor and I became friends. Since I had no idea how to get to the class, he led the way to the building and room where it was being held. Once we reached the classroom, he offered me the use of his extension cord which in my flurry of packing, I’d forgotten.

On the last night before the workshop ended, he told me a story. He had prayed to find a friend at the workshop - someone he could chat with, especially about writing. Turns out I was the answer to that prayer. Just think, if I hadn’t gone over and sat by him, the story would have turned out much differently.

From the moment I sat down for lunch next to a complete stranger, until I got back on that plane home, I did my best to following the promptings of God. And you know what? It was an amazing adventure. From finding this little café a block away from campus where they made a mean fruit and yogurt parfait (fresh mint in it – remarkable), to sitting next to one of the sweetest woman I’ve ever known, to getting the chance to visit an amazing family that I’ve known for many years; God provided. And the thing is, I could relax because God being God, I didn’t need to worry that he wouldn’t take care of my needs.

You know what I discovered - the really cool part of the whole trip? God was as faithful then as he’d been when I was single. And it made me wonder - how had I managed to forget this one important fact; that God is faithful. My theory? I don’t need God in the everyday, ordinary things of life. I’m in control. I get through my days just fine on my own. No help needed.

Only problem is, that’s not exactly true. It doesn’t matter if I’m sitting in a Faith and Writing Workshop in St. Louis, or cooking dinner in my small town Nebraska home - God is always God. And, whether I recognize it or not, God is faithful. Always. Everyday. No matter what.

So I’ll wrap up my trilogy here. The biggest lesson I learned from this whole experience? Just because I know my way around town, or get all my food needs met at the grocery store, or live the same routine day after day doesn’t mean God isn’t working wonders in my life. And it’s not his fault if I fail to recognize them for what they are. So, maybe I’ll step out of my comfort zone a little more realizing that God is working his “little miracles” in my life everyday. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll remember to be oh-so-grateful that he is.

Trapped

O to grace how great a debtor daily I’m constrained to be.

Let Thy goodness like a fetter bind my wandering heart to Thee. 

Prone to wander Lord I feel it, prone to leave the God I love.

 Here’s my heart oh take and seal it, seal it for Thy courts above.

 

Why I’m writing this hasn’t yet become clear to me. I have a story that I’d like to share and maybe someday it will find its way into the hands of others who might benefit from some of the things that I’ve learned. I don’t claim to be a theologian. Far from it. But these are some simple truths that God has pressed against my heart and I feel compelled to share them. 

I love the ending verse to the hymn “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.”  The opening verse is just as beautiful:

 

Come thou fount of every blessing.  Tune my heart to sing thy grace.

Streams of mercy never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise.

Teach me some melodious sonnet sung by flaming tongues above

Praise his name I’m fixed upon it, the name of God’s redeeming love.

 

The line that has the most impact on me is the first, “Come Thou fount of every blessing.” Fount of every blessing, that’s what God is.  He is the fount of all things physical, and all things spiritual.  And, yet, while it is easy to say that God has bountifully blessed us with all things physical, the water becomes a bit more murky when we begin to talk about God blessing us with all things spiritual. 

 Why is not as easy to say that God has given us faith, redemption, security, as it is to say that he has given us grass, water, and trees.  Until recently, I was a good Christian girl who knew that Jesus was her Savior and that He died and rose again for her.  But from there I thought the rest was up to me.  I knew I was saved, but being saved now meant being good, living a good life, being a good Christian. 

Romans 7:18 I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out.

 I feel the Apostle Paul’s pain in the above verses. In verse 18-19, he goes on to say exactly the same things I think to myself nearly every day.

 “For what I do is not the good I want to do: no, the evil I do not want to do – this I keep on doing.” (vs19)

The problem is that even though in my heart I want to be good, I want to follow Christ, I want to live a life that is God pleasing, I just can’t.  It is as spiritually impossible for me to be good down to the depths of my soul, as it is physically impossible for me to change the color of my eyes. A leopard can’t change its spots.  I am what I am.  And what I am is a Christian trapped inside a body of death. 

 “When I want to do good evil is right there with me,” wrote the Apostle Paul. (vs 21)

 Just recently I’ve come to understand what he was speaking about when he penned these words by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. Here’s how the story begins.  Or more appropriately where, for me, it all ended.

 I’m a critical person by nature.  If I told that to most people who knew me they’d say “Oh no you’re not, You’re a great person, a patient person, an understanding and sympathetic person.  I’ve never known you to be critical at all.”

 The problem is - even though it might make me feel better; I know that deep down inside  what they might say isn’t true.  It just isn’t.  When I say that I’m a critical person, I’m not saying that I tend to be critical, or that I sometimes am critical; I’m saying that critical is what I am.  It’s part of my nature.  In other words, I can’t separate myself from it. 

A few weeks ago, my husband and I had the first big argument we’ve had since being married.  What it was about doesn’t really matter as much as what happened when it was over.  It seemed to end on a positive note; we both apologized for the things we’d said and done that were wrong.  But all week long after the fight, I felt like a dark and gloomy cloud was hanging over my head.  It seemed that even though the fight was over, something still hadn’t been resolved.  I felt awful.  I felt hollow inside.  I felt lost. 

Then one night in bed, we began to talk about the fight, and how we both felt like something was still wrong between us.  I didn’t want to say I was sorry.  I thought at the time that I didn’t need to apologize. But the truth of the matter, the heart of it, was the fact that I didn’t want to apologize because if I did it would mean that I would have to change.  I would have to stop being so critical. 

But you see, I’d tried to stop being critical.  I honestly had.  Every time I felt the least bit critical of him, I’d resolved to stop.  I tried to beat my critical nature into submission.  The problem was - I couldn’t.  Oh, sometimes I was fairly successful.  I bit my tongue, or  ignored, or even sometimes bent over backwards to be nice when I wasn’t feeling so nice inside.  But the critical thoughts were still there.  It was like a poison that I couldn’t get out of my system.

Romans 7:24 What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?

Yup, Paul summed it up pretty nicely for me. I didn’t want to be critical, but there it was I just couldn’t help myself.  Reflecting on these things even as we talked I finally confessed to my husband in a despondent voice, “Listen. I know that I’m too critical of you, but I don’t know how to change it.  I’ve tried. But it’s like I’m caught in a cycle that I can’t find my way out of.”  (When I want to do good evil is right there with me).

Spoken straight from my heart, these were the truest words that had ever come out of my mouth.  In saying this to my husband, there was a sense of release for me.  I had come to the end of myself.  Do you know what I mean when I say that?  For me, it was like an epiphany.  I was a Christian, I trusted completely in Christ for my salvation.  But did I trust him for the rest, for sanctification and the good works that should be flowing out of this saved sinner’s soul?  It was as if God were waiting for me to come to the same conclusion that he already had: I was a Christian trapped in a body of death.  I needed him, not only for salvation, but for all the rest as well. 

What I love about the above verses penned by the Apostle Paul is that they have a happy ending. In the muck and mire of what he’d written, Paul seemed so despondent. And he was. He was trapped in a body of death and could find no way out. Finally, as I had to, as we all have to, Paul came to the end of himself. In his despondency, he turned to the right One, Jesus Christ. And though the beginning verses of his Struggling With Sin chapter are all about despair, the verse that packs the biggest punch is tucked neatly away at the end of the chapter.

Romans 7:25 What a wretched man I am. Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God – through Jesus Christ our Lord!

 I can’t think of a better way to end this entry. So, I won’t even try.

please, don't be crazy

In light of the tragedy in a Colorado movie theater and the recent news story about Jared Lee Loughner, the man who shot congresswoman, Gabby Giffords, injured twelve others, and killed six, I feel that there is an issue, an ensuing crisis in our country that needs to be addressed. I believe it’s a crisis of magnificent proportions and, unless we take action now, all signs indicate that this crisis is only going to get worse. My views on these recent shootings may not be popular but here goes.

 The event that spurred me to write this entry was the court proceedings that took place this past week in which Loughner appeared before a judge and pleaded guilty to nineteen of the forty-nine crimes he was charged with. For the most part this decision was favorably received because it meant that the victims and their families would be spared an agonizing trial. Gabby Giffords and her husband, Mark Kelly, said in a statement that , "[they] were satisfied with the proposed plea agreement.”

 This hearing was much different than the one that took place in May, 2011. On that day, Loughner was removed from court after an outburst in which the Arizona Republic quoted him as saying, “Thank you for the free kill. She died in front of me. Your cheesiness.” At this point Loughner still believed he had killed Giffords.

But on this August day, 2012 the Judge presiding, Larry A. Burns had this to say about the change in Loughner’s manner and presence, “He is a different person in his appearance and his effect than when I first laid eyes on him.”

 Clearly something had changed. The federal psychologist appointed to this case, Dr. Christina Pietz, commented on these changes. “Loughner is severely mentally ill, one of the worst I’ve treated. But I believe he can function in the general population.” What was the change?  Medication. In fact, Loughner’s treatment was stopped at one point to ensure that he was not being forcibly medicated. But after another incident in July 2011, prison officials decided to require the medication again. This time the 9^th circuit court upheld the decision to medicate him.

 Pietz saw Loughner nearly every day and described the changes that had taken place, “At first he thought he had killed Giffords. However, after time, Loughner began to express remorse.” ‘I especially cried about the child,’  Pietz quoted him as saying about Christina-Taylor Green. Loughner told Pietz that he “deserved the death penalty and that he realized the consequences of his actions.”

 There were signs that Loughner struggled with mental illness long before the shooting incident. Based on his journal, Pietz concluded that he had shown signs of depression since 2006 and may have developed symptoms of schizophrenia in his junior year of high school. Classmates at Pima Community College described him as a strange and eccentric student; professors spoke of his “disorganized thought process,” Dr. Pietz said.

 The NY Times reported that Loughner’s parents testified that at one point he asked them if they could hear the same voices he had been hearing. In written answers to her questions, his parents told Pietz they were worried he would kill himself. In videos he made, Mr. Loughner said that, he, “felt depressed, and that he had the urge to kill someone.”

 Clearly, Loughner was struggling with both schizophrenia and depression, but once he began a treatment, he was a completely different person. You may be thinking that all I’m doing in this entry is defending a horrible monster. In actuality, I’m not. I’m remembering those who were victims of his rampage.

 You see, I was a person who was capable of doing horrific things in a state of undiagnosis. I've shared often that pre-diagnosis I frequently considered suicide, but that's not the whole story. The night I was hospitalized I went psychotic and, in that state, who knows what I might have done. But for the grace of God maybe that jail cell could have been mine.

 Which leads me to a question. Why do you suppose so many people who commit crimes of this magnitude are known to have struggled with some form of mental illness? It’s not coincidence, folks. It’s a pattern; one that’s occurring all too often. Locking the mentally ill up after the crime has been committed may be a short-term solution, but in the long run wouldn’t it be better to get these people help before it’s too late. Randy Gardner, who was one of Loughner’s victims decried the lack of mental-health care for people like Loughner saying, “We really have to be our brother’s keeper here and reach out and get them help.”

 I couldn’t agree more. I believe that many crimes such as these are preventable. I can say this with confidence because medication has literally saved my life. Much like Judge Burns described Loughner as being “a different person,” that is how I feel about myself. For me going off meds isn't even an option. I know what my life was like before I took them. It was awful, horrible, a dark place that I NEVER want to go back to.

 Here’s the deal, folks; mental illness is real. It is ugly. And, unless it’s dealt with beforehand, it can be lethal. In the end it’s about being our brother’s keeper; getting help for the mentally ill, but it’s also about ensuring that there will be no more innocent victims like Christina-Taylor Green.

Meet Me in St. Louis - Part 2

Psalm 137:23-24 The steps of the godly are directed by the Lord. He delights in every detail of their lives.

Have you ever had a fleeting feeling that the stuff you believe about God might not be true, might not be real? I have to admit I’ve had those thoughts. Sometimes it’s a real struggle to believe in a God you can’t see. But if there has ever been proof that God exists, I can testify to it by telling you a simple story; what happened on my flight to St. Louis. If you missed Meet me in St. Louis - Part I, I’ll give you a quick run-down. Number one; Girl signs up for Faith and Writing Workshop. Number two; Girl realizes a day before she leaves that the workshop is in St. Louis not Seward, NE. Number three; Girl gets on a plane and leaves for a few days adventure.

In Part I, I wrote about how overwhelmed I felt leaving the comfort of my little Nebraska town to travel to a city I’d never been to. But from the get-go, I realized God had something special planned for this trip. Maybe, more than anything, it was a chance to experience the realness that is God. To not only believe, but to encounter His nearness, His faithfulness, His I-care-about-every-detail-of-your-life type of thing.

Let’s start from where I left off. My husband had dropped me off at the airport. The moment I walked in, my heart began beating faster. I saw the line for security, and it was long. Would I make it to my gate on time? Then I remembered, I was taking this trip one moment at a time. Taking a deep breath I tried to calm myself. Things would be fine, I told myself. Just fine. The line did move rather quickly and, before I knew it, I was at my gate waiting to board the plane. It was packed. Since I’d just booked my flight the day before I would be in the last group to board. Sighing, I dropped into my seat. I was about ready to get out my Nook for some pleasure reading when a gal around my age asked if she could sit next to me. We chit-chatted very briefly.

Before we took off I needed to go to the restroom, but I didn’t want to drag all of my stuff with me. This girl next to me seemed pleasant enough. I asked if she would watch my things while I was gone, and she agreed. I hurried off to find a bathroom. Maybe I was being naïve trusting this stranger. On the other hand, maybe God had placed this person in my path for a reason.

When I returned I found that the passengers were beginning to board. Since I’d never flown Southwest, I was a little confused about the process. Thinking that this girl seemed to know what she was doing, I asked her for a few tips. She must have sensed my amateurishness because she offered to save a seat for me on the plane. I readily accepted. Once I’d found her, I breathed a sigh of relief and sunk into my seat. I’d made it thus far without any major catastrophes. So far. So good.

As the plane took off, I asked my neighbor what she did. “I’m a writer.” she responded. Eagerly, I turned to her and told her that I was also a writer. I explained that I would be attending a Faith and Writing Workshop in St. Louis. We chatted more, and I discovered that she had self-published a few books. During the flight, we discussed the advantages of self-publishing versus conventional. She gave me some good tips and pointers about self-publishing.

The flight went by rather quickly. Just as we were landing, she handed me her card. “Here. Feel free to contact me if you have any more questions.” As we were leaving the plane she turned to me and said, “You know, I never talk to anyone when I fly. It was really unusual for me to even sit by you in the airport.” I, of course, had to give credit where credit was due, “Yea, guess it was meant to be,” I hesitated, “a God-thing you might say.” Smiling and nodding, she hurried off the plane to catch her connecting flight.

I guess my question for you is this; Do you see the ‘God moments’ in your own life? If your answer is, “No,” my question is, “Why not?” Because if you do stop and search for those ‘God moments’ you’ll realize just how much He cares about every detail of your life. Every detail. Even the seemingly insignificant ones.

So I guess I’ll bring this around full circle. When I’m tempted to think that all this ‘God stuff’ is just foolishness, I’ll remember my flight to St. Louis. Every part. And smiling as I did when I was walking off the plane that day, I’ll remember this; God is real, and, more importantly, God is good.

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