Jesus in the Clouds

Sunday morning on the way to church… (Have I mentioned how much I LOVE Sundays??  Sleeping in, church, football…hear my contented sigh?)… anyway, on the way to church I couldn’t help but notice the beautiful fall foliage, the perfect blue skies, and the puffy cumulus clouds (cumulus clouds are the ones that look like cotton balls by the way-always a teacher;)  I had the praise music cranked up in my car and was preparing my heart for the service ahead.  And, it was about that time that I remembered another day, years before, when I had been on my way back from a church service and took special notice of the clouds.  And, because my last post was a bit heavy, I thought my blogger friends may enjoy a bit of a lighter post. 

It was the summer after 7th grade I was 12 years old. My dad was a preacher at a summer camp, a ranch specifically.  It was set in the middle of nowhere, literally in the middle of a cornfield. There was a "teen ranch" that was the main camp, and then up this gigantic hill was the "junior ranch." You had to go to the junior ranch until you turned 13. So, that summer, our cabin ruled the junior camp. We were the oldest girls, the alpha cabin…and we thought we were IT.  Every evening we would descend the hill on big yellow school busses to attend the service at the “teen ranch” where my dad would deliver the sermon.

On this particular evening we had finished our evening service and were on our way back up the hill on the cheese wagon. Summer church camp tends to bring out some fanatical emotions, not to mention we were all pre-teens, thus hormonal as it was. One of the girls in the back of the bus began hysterically crying, claiming she saw “Jesus in the clouds.” Please keep in mind, my daddy is a southern Baptist preacher, I grew up at a southern Baptist church where Tim LaHaye was an annual visitor and once a year at minimum we heard the “signs of the end times” sermons.  So when I heard Jesus was in the clouds I pictured Him descending on a fluffy cloud in the blink of an eye (If my teenage hormones hadn’t been the main force behind my thinking/logic skills at that time I would have realized several blinks of the eye had already passed).  Alas, I was certain the rapture was happening-right then.

Anyway, a couple of the other girls began to cry as they pointed to the sky outlining the cloud that was apparently in the SHAPE of Jesus thus dispelling my rapture/left behind fears. Around that time a mini-revival broke out on the bus, girls were crying, promising to break their secular CDs, burn their Tiger Beat and Star magazines, as they were certain that the Lord Jesus Christ Himself was making a personal appearance in the form of a cloud.  One of the girls then gasped in astonishment announcing, “Look, its transforming into a shepherd, because Jesus is the Great Shepherd.” A few more girls began to cry and then another pubescent girl pointed out that, “Oh my gosh, now it’s a door.” Perhaps Dad had spoken on the names of God from A-Z or something, I don’t really remember. I was half expecting them to shout, “OMG, now it’s the alpha symbol, oh look, omega…”

However, as I was half-way appalled at this ridiculously emotional turn of events, I was also feeling a bit left out.  They were all having this bonding moment in the back of the bus and I couldn’t even find animal shapes in the clouds, much less a cloud in the shape of my Savior.  By this point, EVERYONE was crying but me.  I really don’t like to cry-especially in front of people, but this was totally different.  I NEEDED to cry.  So, I thought of the saddest thing I could think of and pinched myself…hard. I managed to squeeze a few tears out and then got caught up in the wave of emotions and managed to genuinely cry.

Our poor counselors had no idea what to do with a bus full of crying, snotty, overly emotional girls. Once we reached the top of the hill the counselors had already contacted the camp pastor, read…my Father, whom I have NEVER seen cry (although in the last few years I have seen him get a bit “teary”). When we exited the bus the counselors gathered us in this large field and my dad stood in the center. He calmly and kindly reassured the girls that the Lord works in mysterious ways and if they genuinely felt as though the Lord was sending them a message that evening they should first of all, be sure it was Biblical (i.e. don’t do something crazy in this emotional frenzy) and follow through on the promptings of the Holy Spirit. The girls were satisfactorily reassured and began to return to our cabin to destroy the secular music or trashy magazines they had snuck into their bunks. I was in the middle of the pack when I heard my dad politely ask the counselors to allow me to stay back for a few minutes.

Just as soon as the other campers and counselors were out of earshot he took me by the arm, turned me around to face him, and proceeded to ask “WHY are you crying?” I tried to tell him I didn’t know…I was only crying because the other girls were so upset and I didn’t want to feel left out. I had barely gotten the words out of my mouth when he responded in aghast, “JESUS IN THE CLOUDS??  Really???”  But, that wasn’t even what I was crying about.  I tried to tell him again that I was only crying because everyone else was, but he wasn’t buying it. And he again reinforced that crying over Jesus in the clouds was one of the SILLIEST things he had ever heard. Then he “gently” told me, “Now, dry up your tears, and go back to your cabin.”

(Disclaimer: My Dad is a passionate man of the Lord.  He is a man of character and integrity.  I have never doubted his love for me or for the Lord.  However, I was twelve, and being a bit ridiculous, and he knew this was outside of my typical character and I needed a little “pep talk” to return to reality…)

So, I made my way back to the cabin, changed into warmer clothes, and embarked on the haywagon that transported us to the annual bonfire where all of the girls really did break their CDs and burn their magazines. 

Just a few months ago I ran across this picture:

 I sent it to my dad as evidence.  Snopes confirmed the picture was a hoax, and 18 years later my dad confirmed that crying over seeing Jesus in the clouds was indeed still silly. 

Borrowing Husbands

A few days ago I met with my sweet friend, Katie (full disclosure, Katie was at one time my student teacher, but now she is simply my dear friend).  Anyway, Katie entered the blogging world about a year ago.  However, her blog has purpose.  She isn’t just a rambler, or a teacher-wanna-be writer, like yours truly.  She is a crafter, and a really, really talented one at that.  As a matter of fact she is probably being pinned, or pinged, or whatever that pinterest thing is called, as we speak (read?) because apparently that happens on a fairly regular basis these days.  (Don’t worry, I was only a few years behind in the blogging world, I fully plan to continue to the trend and wait for awhile to enter the pinterest world as well.)  I religiously follow her blog because:

 a) I am a blog (and facebook) stalker.

b) I am always inspired.  She makes everyone feel like they can be just as crafty as she is.  Seriously, all of her instructions are so clear and concise, and for those visual learners she always includes step-by-step picture examples (note me patting myself on the back for modeling for her how to reach ALL learners).  Not gonna lie, I even started a few of her crafts myself.  (See her acorn  wreath).  But one of two things always happens: I get really frustrated because mine NEVER looks like her pictures, or I get really frustrated because it takes me entirely too long.  And by entirely too long I mean longer than the current episode of NCIS I have playing for background noise.  (Please note: I teach elementary school and therefore, by default, have the attention span of an average nine year old.)

c)  Her husband is a computer genius.   This is not an exaggeration.  That man is amazing with all of that “technology stuff”.  I remember when I was student teaching (just a “few” years ago) the veteran teachers would always ask me for help with computer issues.  It’s still kind of that way in my current place of employment.  Despite the fact I just turned 30, I am still among the “young” teachers at my school.  So, when someone needs to know how to attach a document to email, or enter grades in their electronic gradebook, or create a power point presentation (complete with animation, oh yea!) I’m their gal.  However, when I go home for holidays my nine year old sister has to show me how to use the IPAD.  And, I should mention, that same nine year old sister entered the blogging world before I did (check her out).  So, while I can hold my own in the basic Microsoft field (my definition of basic=Word, Power Point, Excel, and Office)…well, my computer competence (or lack thereof) ends there.  Subsequently, since her husband is “Bill Gates-esque”, her blog is A-dorable!!  (Not that she couldn’t make it that cute on her own, but she readily admitted to me she has had some help.)

I really want my blog to be as cute as hers.  Yes, I am coveting blogs now.  And, I can say with pride that I need help.  With pride?  Yes, because, well, I am proud of myself for realizing I am not perfect (no, really, I’m not…) and may at times be wrong.  That’s kind of a big step for me.  So, Katie taught me about widgets (gidgets? ah, should’ve taken notes), and links, and uploading, etc.  (But, don’t expect miracles people…)

Anyway, Katie is also the friend I called when my IPOD froze immediately before a 10k about a year ago.  I figured her hubby, Adam,  HAD to know some magical formula to unfreeze it.  I can’t run without music.  Simply cannot do it.  He knew the reset trick and my race tunes were once again successfully humming through my ear buds.  Adam is the husband I “borrow” whenever I need electronic/computer help.

Matt is the husband I “borrow” whenever anything goes wrong with my car.  My AC went out one summer, Matt to the rescue.  My car was leaking fluid (Who knew air conditioners actually condensate and leave water puddles under cars??  Check out my interests-cars or mechanics you will not find…)  Matt assured me this was, in fact, normal.  Matt is also a wonderful waiter and keeps my diet coke filled whenever I am over to visit his wife, my best teaching friend, Cathy.  Cathy and I sip our diet coke while we sit out on the porch and talk about all of the delightful students, our perfect jobs, and the new, exciting changes at school. (Hello to any parents, co-workers, and/or administrators that may have found their way to this blog.)  Matt faithfully gets up from his recliner, removes his attention from his English Premiere League Soccer game, and dutifully refills my soda.  What a guy!

Brandon is the husband I borrow to watch football with.  I am a bit of a sports fanatic.  If I didn’t teach my dream job would be to be a sports commentator or statistician for ESPN.  As I blow dry and straighten my hair (or curl it on a really good morning), put on my make-up (or only mascara on a really bad morning), I have “Mike and Mike in the Morning” on my TV updating me on the latest sports’ news.  Brandon’s wife, Andrea, has been my dear, dear friend since 4^th grade.  Her husband appreciates a good football game, and appreciates a good football conversation.  So, whenever I need to discuss the gridiron, or need someone to watch and analyze the game with, to Brandon and Andrea’s house I go.  Not to mention, they have two adorable children that I love to play with while watching the games.

Halloween night my friend Johnna and I went to see a scary movie, in honor of the holiday, of course!  While I love scary movies this was not a well-thought out plan.  Not surprisingly none of my friends would allow me to borrow their husband to clutch during the scary parts or to come home with me that night to assure me that the monsters in my home were only figments of my imagination.  Selfish brats.  I often tell my mom, “I need to get one of those.”  And by one of those, I mean a husband.

Trust me, it isn’t for lack of asking.  I have spent years begging God for just that.  Since I was little I have always wanted to be a wife and a mother.  I am a pretty independent woman (being 30 and single will do that to a girl), but I long to be a helpmate and raise babies with my best friend.  I know marriage won’t be all rainbows and flowers.  But, Lord knows, being a wife and a mother is the deepest (worldly) desire of my heart.

When I finished grad school I figured it was time.  I had all of my schooling behind me, was employed by my first full-time (benefits included!) job, and I was ready to meet Mr. Right and settle down.  And so, I waited-patiently…at first.  After about two years I began to grow anxious.  After all, I had been actively involved in a church, working at the same job, going out with friends, and had met absolutely no one.  Meanwhile one of my teaching friends was picking up a to-go order at Buffalo Wild Wings, met a guy in line who was also waiting on dinner, and was married 6 months later.  I ate a lot of chicken wings that year….My anxiousness turned to worry: worry that I was not good enough, not loveable, not worthy,  and then to bitterness.  After all, the Lord gave me this desire, He created me, thus He must have placed it in my heart.  And yet, here He was withholding it from me.  I stopped praying.  I’d talk to Mom, she’d say all of the right things, mention her prayers for me, and I would often reply that I was thankful she was praying because I had stopped.  Prayer gave me hope, and I didn’t want hope because I felt like that hope only led to disappointment.  I told Mom if God wanted me to talk to Him, He knew how to “fix this.”  (Thank God His grace prevented me from lightning strikes during all of this!)  My heart became extremely hardened and bitterness ate away at the inside of me.  I was raised in church, I knew all of the right Sunday School answers, and I was really good at going through the motions.  But, my relationship with the Lord was non-existent.  I was stubbornly giving Him the silent treatment.  It was about as effective as the silent treatment usually is in solving disagreements.  My bitterness and anger in no way benefited me, and amazingly enough, it didn’t force God to give me a husband. 

Actually, all it did was make me obese.  All of this bitterness and anger made me extremely depressed.  I had this gaping hole in my heart that I had hoped a husband would fill.  That didn’t happen.  So, I filled it with food…lots and lots of food.  And it became a vicious cycle; the more I ate, the heavier I became.  The heavier I became, the less I wanted to go out or do anything-with anyone.  The less I went out, the less friends I had, the less things I did, the more depressed I became…the bigger that hole grew….the more food I ate to try to fill it…and the heavier I became…you can see where this is going.  I knew I was getting big…but, I was never the smallest girl in the room, so I was woefully unaware of just how obese I had truly become.  I was really good at positioning myself behind people in pictures.  However, there was a candid shot from summer vacation that I didn’t know had been taken.  Later that fall I was looking through the pictures, saw that particular shot and had no idea who that woman in the picture was.  Seriously.  I did not even recognize myself.  It was a wake-up call.  I made the decision to get through the holidays and begin a new, healthier way of living come January.  And I did.  I lost great amounts of weight quickly.  It was extremely exciting.  However, the hole in my hardened heart remained.  And it was still ice-cold.  I still had no relationship with the Lord and no desire to have a relationship with someone who would withhold my greatest desire from me. 

By the following July I had lost over 70 lbs.  My dad’s church was in the midst of planning their fall women’s conference and they asked me to lead a session on health and wellness.  What a difference 7 months can make.  I agreed, never anticipating what the Lord had in store for me that October weekend.  One evening, during our large group session, one of the sweetest, Godliest women I know spoke on her love and loss.  She had miscarried, heartbreakingly, several times.  She spoke about holding on to that hurt and disappointment, allowing it to grow into bitterness, or allowing the Lord to use it in her life.  To be honest, I don’t remember all of what she said because about ten minutes into her talk I was in tears as the Lord was directly speaking to my heart about the bitterness I was harboring due to my own disappointment.  I was at the altar before the speaker even opened it up, I think.  My tears were flowing (remember, I hate to cry) and my heart was breaking.  The Lord was chiseling away at that hard exterior I had formed.  Oh, how it hurt.  I was giving up all of my pain, all of my anger, all of my worry and anxiety, all of my disappointment, laying it all down.  But, I could not give up my dream or desire.  That was still burning brightly.  I began begging the Lord to not ask me to give that up, please God, don’t make me surrender my desire to be a wife and a mother.  I struggled, I cried, I sobbed.  I felt a huge weight off of my shoulders as I released that bitterness, and a huge internal struggle as I worried that I was still holding onto my selfishness.

I found the speaker after her session.  I had one question for her.  “After your second devastating miscarriage, did you feel like you had to stop asking the Lord for children?”  Her response soothed my heart.  “Absolutely not.  I will continue to ask the Lord for children until He makes it clear the answer is no.  I still desperately want children (and she now has two!!), but more than that, I want the Lord’s best for my life.  I want His will above my own.”  Relieved I went back to my room.  I wanted to read His Word.  It had been so long and my hunger for the Lord and His precious promises was insatiable.  I immediately turned to I Samuel.  I couldn’t think of anyone who desired something more than Hannah’s longing for a child, her wailing at the temple that led others to believe she was intoxicated.  I began reading, sure that when I got to the part of the story where the Lord actually grants Hannah the desire of her heart I would be comforted.  Instead the Lord stopped me very early on in Hannah’s story.  Hannah is crying, begging God (again) and her husband comes to her and simply says, “Am I not better to you than ten sons?”  I could hear the Lord say to me, “Daughter, am I not better to you than a husband,  than children?”  I cried back, “Of course You are, Lord!  Of course You are!”  But then the Lord directed me to the story of His only Son immediately before what had to be the most heart-wrenching day He experienced as a Father.  Jesus was in the garden, praying before His sacrificial death.  And He says (in the Miss J paraphrase), “Father if there is any other way to accomplish your will, please allow it.  But ultimately, Lord, its not my will but your will that I will follow.”  God’ Son, His perfect child, felt the freedom to ask His Father, all-powerful, all-knowing, God, for another way.  But, ultimately He was willing to surrender to the will of His Father.  Because Jesus knew what the Lord had been longing for me to understand: He LOVES me, He created me, He wants what is BEST for me, and He wants to fill that hole in my heart.  His plans are to prosper me and not to harm me, to give me a hope and a future (Jeremiah 29:11). 

What freedom!  I continue to ask the Lord for a husband (not just one to borrow either) and children.  That is still a longing of my heart that I truly believe the Lord placed there.  However, it is no longer my greatest desire.  My greatest desire is to honor and glorify the Lord in whatever He has called me to be.  And as I wait I am extremely grateful for the friends the Lord has given me.  Friends who allow me to “borrow” their husbands-even if its not to chase away the monsters after a particularly frightening film.