Reflections

Be careful little eyes what you see,
Oh  be careful little eyes what you see,
For the Father up above
Is looking down in love,
So be careful little eyes what you see.

There I was, driving along, singing at the top of my lungs to my wee grandson's kiddie CD when I suddenly smacked into the brick wall. No, not literally (thank you, Jesus), but it felt like it.

I wasn't expecting to be convicted by a children's song, for pity's sake. But there it was, the fiery arrow of true guilt zinging straight into my heart, hiding beneath the unassuming words of the last verse:

Be careful little mind what you think,
Oh be careful little mind what you think,
For the Father up above
Is looking down in love,
So be careful little mind what you think.

The Father up above is looking down in love, so be careful little mind what you think.

All at once it hit me. All those times (and lately it seems like a gazillion) when I've bitten back a harsh response to a co-worker, boss, crazy driver, clerk, family member or friend, and instead thought searing, critical, or sarcastic replies that I thought were private ... weren't. The Joan Rivers in my head seems always to be hot to go and never hesitates to skewer anyone who crosses me. 

Silently, of course. I am, after all, an inspirational writer and speaker.

I thought I was doing the "Christian" thing by not blasting the victim with my verbal Uzi.
I thought I was being patient and even kind by putting them in their place mentally instead of physically.
I thought being a reflection of Jesus was surface stuff ... like the shimmering reflection of trees in a pond. 
I thought turning away and rolling my eyes and biting my tongue was acceptable in God's sight because no actual relationship damage was done. No messes to clean up. No apologies to utter.
I thought that nobody hears what I don't say.
But I was wrong.

Somebody hears. Somebody important.

The Father up above is looking down in love, so be careful little mind what you think. 

Gulp. My only consolation is that He is indeed looking down at me in love and promises to forgive all that faulty thinking. And maybe sharpen my reflection, too, so someone can actually tell Who the blurry image is supposed to be.

But that's not enough. The next step is to replace my stinkin' thinkin' with something else. Something strong enough and satisfying enough that I won't be tempted to reload my weapon and slip back into nastyland. Something like the apostle Paul had in mind in Philippians 4:8: "Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right."

So now I'm trying to come up with a Yield sign for my thoughts. A short, powerful slogan that will become my automatic default when my eyeballs start to roll and sarcastic inner responses beg to placate my desire for personal retribution.

Got any ideas? What helps you sharpen your reflection?      
    

Spielberg I Ain't.

Cut! The annoyed directer shouts. Again.

Okay, this is getting old. Like rancid fish.

Spouse and I are trying our hand at shooting a series of twelve short videos called, "2-Minute Stress Busters," to coincide with the August release of my new book, Too Blessed to Be Stressed. 

But we're finding out we're definitely not. Too blessed to be stressed, I mean.

Today's film topic is, "Friends are our best de-stessors." Ironically prophetic.

We've chosen 10 o'clock in the morning to begin shooting, assuming that most folks will be already gone to work and we'll have lots of peace and quiet in which to work. Spouse is behind the camera on a tripod in our driveway, director, cameraman and dolly grip (I don't know what that means but I always see it movie credits and love the way it sounds. Who wouldn't want to be a dolly grip?) Our makeshift "set" is perched at the top of a usually quiet, gently rolling cul-de-sac of five homes nestled beneath a canopy of oak trees. Birds are chirping, bees are buzzing, cicadas are humming. What could go wrong, right?

The first of three brief scenes has my girlfriend, Pam, and I rounding the corner together in a jovial power walk which proceeds across the length of the cul-de-sac and ends at the base of our driveway. We assume our starting positions down the street and Spouse the director gives us the hand signal. The camera is rolling.

Only neighbor #1 chooses this precise moment to drag his trashcans to the curb. Cut!

Take two. As we pass by his house, Neighbor #2 backs his tactical military training vehicle (looks like Rambo in a Hummer) out of his driveway and revs the engine. Cut!

Take three. We make it to the driveway this time and I totter up the slope to my mark in front of the camera and open my mouth to speak. Suddenly backyard Neighbor #3 cranks up his lawn mower.Cut!

We retreat inside the house to kill time until Mr. Green Thumb mows his way around to his front yard. The background noise fades to the level of a jet exhaust. The clock ticks. We can't wait any longer. I'll just have to speak above the din.

We've just resumed filming when Neighbor #4 to our left flings open her front door and lets her yippy dog out. Spouse makes the "keep going" hand motion behind the camera so I distractedly keep fumbling my way through the script until little Fido decides to come on over to our yard and lift his leg on the spider plant just behind me. Cut!           

Fido's owner, who has never been a hint-taker, wanders over in her jammies to see what we're doing. She won't leave. I'm ready to lose it. Spouse catches my eye. He senses the volcano about to erupt and gives me the look. You know that look. The one that all married people recognize. The one that silently says, "I know what you're about to do; don't do it."

I know he's right and it makes me madder. Here we are filming a chapter I wrote about loving your neighbor and I'm about to blast mine for no reason except she's lonely and wants to chat at an inopportune time. Okay, doctor Debbie, take your own medicine. I force a smile, wipe the sweat off my forehead, and try to ignore Fido digging up my impatiens.


More poetic irony. He's also uprooting my impatience. But maybe that's the point. Maybe Papa God is trying to show me something here.

What good is knowing something, even writing about it, or worse yet, filming it, if we don't live it?

I suspect that's what He's talking about in my meditation verse from yesterday, "Whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord." (Col. 3:17).

Humph. I could've meditated on that verse until next spring and never quite gotten the message like this. Whatever I do - even the unexpected like dealing with irritating neighbors, things that don't go the way I think they should, blown schedules, and peeing Fidos - should be in the name of the Lord. Not just the easy stuff, the hard stuff. Especially the hard stuff.

After only a half-dozen more interruptions we finally finish shooting and the director calls a wrap. So when you see Stress Buster Number 7 (Nurturing Friendships) when it airs in August,* you'll hear the lawn mower, notice the trashcans, and be the only one who knows the behind-the-scenes story.

And know positively that our blessings can outweigh our stressings.

*Keep abreast of each new 2-Minute Stress Buster on my website (www.DeboraCoty.com; click on "Stress Busters") as they're posted bi-weekly from July - September. Or for the easy route, just following this blog or like/befriend me on Twitter or FaceBook (you can find links for these on my website also).

Lovin' Those Grace Kisses

Okay, I realize I'm delinquent in announcing the long awaited birth of Baby Blaine - my very first grand. I stand guilty as charged by my faithful readers who have scolded me soundly for my omission.

He's two weeks old today and cute as a newborn porcupine (have you ever seen one? They really are cute!) and not nearly as prickly.

As I shower the little fellow with baby kisses all over his pink scrunchy face, I can't help but be reminded of Papa God's love for us, His precious children.

He loves to cover us with kisses too - little intimate caresses of affirmation and affection born of His overflowing love, grace, and mercy for us.

Grace kisses. Yep. That's what they are.

We can't earn them and certainly don't deserve them. No more than Baby Blaine did anything to deserve all the love lavished on him because ... well, just because. He's one of us. Part of the family. More than just accepted, he's beloved simply because of who he is, not for anything he's done or will do.

And if I stop my frantic pace long enough to focus, I can actually imagine curling up into my Heavenly Father's big ole lap and feel His arms encircle my tense body and envelop me in His sublime tenderness.

Ahhh. So nice.  

So I hope you'll take a moment today and bask in the warmth of Papa God's grace kisses all over your scrunchy face. Relax. Enjoy. Can you feel His soft, loving lips caress your forehead? Be still and know that you are loved.