Spiritual Growth

Be Bold, Tell Your Story

For years I hesitated to tell how I sat on a doctors table waiting to have an abortion. How I felt like God came in the room and urged me to leave. How it felt as though He said, “Ellen, I promise, if walk out everything would be ok.” How I got dressed and left.

I hesitated because I never wanted a woman who chose abortion to feel like God treated me differently by speaking into my heart and not theirs. 

But that all changed one weekend when I attended a Care Ministry conference where my roommate was a woman I’d never met. That first night, she shared with me how she came to be a volunteer in our churches Abortion Recovery Ministry. She told me how for years she was depressed and could not figure out why. Then after years of medication and therapy, she found herself sitting in the group she now helps facilitate. And as a part of the group therapy, she named her baby and had a memorial service for her. That’s when the healing began that eventually set her free from her depression. 

Hesitantly, I shared my abortion clinic story with her. And her response was, “I heard that voice too, only I ignored it.” 

That’s when I realized there was nothing special about my encounter with God. That He speaks to all of us in those kinds of situations. Only we tend to chalk it up to conscience, or intuition, or a gut feeling. But God is consistent and He loves us all. But we tend to cover our ears and build walls around our hearts to keep out our creator.

A few years ago, I posted a pro-life message on social media. In it, I declared how grateful I am for that gentle voice that told me to leave that clinic.

Only, that message triggered a few of my pro-abortion followers who then attacked me and called me names. How dare I be insensitive to those who have had abortions. 

But I stuck to my story, and the story told to me by my roommate at the conference. I stuck to what I’ve seen and heard from others who regret their abortions. Because too many women have been deeply wounded by the lie that an abortion affect them for the rest of their lives.

I can’t get in the weeds to defend my pro-life views as well as I can just tell my story. And perhaps that’s the best way to share the gospel.

There we were, two strangers in a hotel telling similar stories with two very different outcomes. Both stories showed that regardless of what choice we have made, God continues to nudge us to invite Him into the discussion. And when we do, He not only changes us, but uses our story to reach others.

If you have a story like this, please put, “God nudged me too and it changed my life” in the comments. I will then pray for God to use your story to share His Gospel.

#abortionhurtswomen #tellyourstory #godisgoodalways #godhealsbrokenhearts #chooselife

Start Heaven Today, Learn Something New

It started in my thirties. The need to push myself to see what else I could learn. I never wanted to settle. So I signed up for piano lessons with my kid’s teacher. Every week, with my music book tucked under my arm, I waited my turn to plink away. After four years, I wasn’t very good, but I proved to myself I could still learn new things.

That started a trend for the rest of my life. Every decade I would pick something new to learn.

In my forties, it was ballet. A friend of mine owned a studio in our town where most of her adult students had ballet experience. But as a kid, this tomboy never considered taking dance lessons. But every Monday for five years I stepped up to the barre and I plié’d. And to my surprise, I really liked ballet and wished I’d taken it when I was younger. 

When a move to Florida took me from the studio, and I faced another decade, I began to wonder what was next. Then in my early 50’s, my life began to unravel. Cancer took my husband Tim’s life leaving me in need of something to process my grief.

For years, Tim had begged me to get my motorcycle license. Ever since our teens, we had spent hours carving out turns on the country roads of Northern Virginia. 

So several months after his funeral, in the early morning dawn, I took my place on the motorcycle range. And for several weeks, I navigated shifting gears and slamming on the brakes and I got my motorcycle permit. 

For the next year, when the loneliness of Tim’s absence overcame me, I backed our bike out of the garage, and drove it around the lake near my home.  Once again I proved to myself that even in my 50’s, I could still learn something new.

Now in my late 60’s, the trend has not stopped. After years of being Tim’s carpentry assistant, I took on the task of renovating my little townhouse. Of course, my family helped, but I learned to cut my own angles on a chop saw as I hung my own trim. I learned to lay hardwood flooring and tile, all by myself. And the best part of all, I mastered the tape measure and all those insane sixteenths of an inch you need for fine art carpentry. 

It’s easy to grow old and think we know ourselves well. That we’re past the age to learn new things. But we humans are far more capable than we realize. Because our God created us to never stop learning new things.

I have a hunch that heaven will be much like this old earth. Only we’ll all have the benefit of endless time. 

So, what if the passions we have here on earth are what we take with us to eternity? What if we teach what we know to others? What if my ballerina friend teaches ballet classes there, and Tim teaches fine art cabinet making? What if one of the best parts of heaven is having endless time to learn and perfect new things? 

What have you not had time to learn that you wish would be there to learn in heaven?  Do you think I’m wrong? If so, tell me about it.

Be Prepared

I have a precious childhood memory of me in the back seat of my parents VW bug with my nose pressed against the glass as the Washington DC suburb of Arlington Virginia rolls by. My father is driving and my mother is in the front passenger seat. 

My mind is racing over something that happened the day before. And as I process the event, I begin to form sentence after sentence, with all the accompanying dialogue, as I ponder the best way to tell the “story” to my mother. Who at that time was my biggest fan.

Fast forward several years and I’m married to Tim. And one day he brings home our first personal computer, a Commodore 64. As he takes it out of the box and sets it on the table, he says, “Honey, I love all your stories. Please write them down.” Then for the rest of his life, he continues to shove the latest and greatest computer under my dancing fingers. 

I understand I’m a gifted story teller. But you must know, I don’t rest lightly on that gift. I study writing and I listen to critique. When I’m done typing, I read every word out loud, over and over as I pick them apart just like I did when I was a kid. 

What if I told you, as Christians, we are all supposed to be story tellers. Maybe not to the degree I am, but perhaps we shouldn’t rely completely on others to tell the greatest story we carry in our hearts. The one that tells how we came to the decision to follow Jesus.

I believe Peter’s directive in 1 Peter 3:15 commands us to ALWAYS have a story prepared to give a reason for the hope within us. As the world around us falls darker and darker, and Christianity gets attacked on all sides, our hope becomes the greatest tool we have to share the gospel.

I hear your sighs, and all the excuses. I hear you say you don’t know how to tell a compelling story, or you’re not good at it, or…STOP! Think about this, we don’t hesitate today to pull up a YouTube video to learn how to do just about anything we want to. And to our surprise, many of those tasks are often easier than we ever imagined. So why not use the same tools to learn how to tell a great story of hope? 

Do you need to boost your hope? Well, deeply reflecting on what Jesus has done in your life is the best place to start. So, get out your keyboard and write those moments down. Then get on line and learn basic story telling skills. 

Here’s a few of my favorite sites:

STOP! Before You Kill Someone

flagman-190063 (1)After a long days work, I was barreling down the two-lane country road that led me home. My mind was spinning with anger over something Tim had done. All these years later, I don’t remember what it was. But I do remember the rage.

I didn’t see the flagman holding one of those Stop signs on a pole. I didn’t even notice him until he had lifted his sign, and sprinted for the shoulder. I slammed on the brakes and came to a screeching halt. The jolt catapulted me out of my fury.

We shared a few sideways glances. Then the man picked up his sign and walked right to the front of my car. Without saying a word, he glared at me and turned that sign to clearly declare the word “STOP.”

As if that wasn’t enough, he then picked it up and banged the pole into the ground, not once, not twice, but and over and over for what seemed like an hour.

Then he calmly turned the sign around to say “SLOW.” And I did slowly make my way past him.

But as I crossed the bridge over the Occoquan River, I kept thinking how my anger had taken over me. How it so distracted me that I almost took a persons life.

In the few minutes I had before reaching home, I chose to think differently. Instead of focusing on what Tim had done wrong, I began to think of some of my fondest memories of him.

I thought of the time we drove all night from Georgia back to our home in Virginia. Kelly was not yet a year old. This was before car seats, so we had put the back seat down in our old VW bug, and made her a soft bed to sleep on.

It was past midnight when we pulled into a gas station and Tim got out. After pumping gas, he opened the drivers side door and I looked over at him. Something in the back seat caught his eye, and his face melted. In a voice so tender it touched me deeply, he said, “Hey boogh, did we wake you up?”

I turned around, and the warm glow of the lights fell softly on Kelly’s chubby little face. She was sitting up, caressing her security blanket close to her chest while sucking her thumb.Tim, Kelly, and Ellen 1974

The more I thought of that moment, my heart softened, and my rage subsided. By the time I got home, whatever Tim had done wrong, was now in it’s proper perspective.

We do get to choose our thoughts. And we do get to bring them captive to the will of God. And God’s will is that we think on good things. And not the things that bring us down.

So, what track are you stuck on today? And what thoughts can you bring captive? Isn’t it time to change direction?

 

 

 

Peace at What Cost?

She sat across from me at the table. I wasn’t sure why she wanted to have lunch. For the past couple years she’d been asking that we be friends. She said she envied mine.american-cut-table

But it’s hard. There are just too many unanswered calls. Too many texts that get no response. Too many canceled lunch dates.

As a single mom, I know she’s got her hands full with two of her four children still at home. And she does understand the challenges she handed them with her three divorces. But she’s trying to overcompensate by being super mom.

And I do think, considering her past, she’s wise to not date. But I question her insistence that she values the peace she’s found in being alone. Especially since she repeatedly laments how she’s not close to her family, and she has no friends.

So, I came to lunch. But until I saw her in the restaurant, I wondered if she’d show up. But she did.

I try to make her feel comfortable by sharing some of the struggles Tim and I had in our marriage. I don’t want her to feel badly that she’s divorced. I want to love her right where she is.DSC00410

“Sounds like he was really selfish,” she says.

I back pedal. My intent wasn’t to degrade the guy.

“We were both selfish.” I responded. “Truthfully, I was as horrible and wonderful to him, as he was to me. In our forty years together, it was a draw.”

She sat up straight, drew in a long breath that puffed up her chest. “I used to be selfish,” she said.

I sit back kind of stunned. Because with no one in her life except her kids, who pushes her buttons? And since she stays at their every beck and call, they’re not pulling her trigger. So I wondered, what are her indicators to say she’s not selfish?

Because I just don’t think we’re to wipe out our struggles by isolating ourselves from difficult people. And if that’s the only way we can find peace, I think we might be doing it all wrong.

The bible tells us in Ephesians we’re to be completely humble and gentle. To be patient, bearing with one another in love.  To make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace.

Looking back at the difficult people who have crossed my path, I see how those relationships changed me the most. And the ones I wanted to walk away from were the ones that caused me the most growth.

Because we can’t win the fight over our sinful nature, if we don’t get back in the ring. And those difficult relationships help to identify the areas where we need to change the most.

Selflessness never comes easy. And sacrificing our lives for others exacts a high price. But consciously bearing with one another, in love, changes us at our core. And if we don’t spend our lives incrementally laying them down, at the end, the only way we will have peace, will be to live alone.