Intercede...or Intervene?

I thought I'd seen it all.

But last night, I was faced with a new dilemma.

And I have no idea what I'm going to do about it.

I intercede for people on the streets all day long. I lift them up in prayer, I speak blessings upon them.

I don't intervene.

If someone asks for help, for counseling or for rehab, I will step in. But I've never considered inserting myself without an invitation.

Until now.

Last night I got a call from Stan, a personable guy who is a caretaker for a woman he calls "Grandma." They aren't related, but she considers him family, having lost her own son years ago.

Stan wants help in finding a home for her.

He says she has become increasingly negative and hard to live with. He's had enough.

I've met "Grandma" a few times and while I know that her life has been tough, I also know that she is able to care for herself, preferring Stan's company to being alone but not needing it to survive.

Yet she signed Power of Attorney over to him.

Which gives him the right to have her put in a home against her will.

I have a pretty good idea of the whole picture.

Stan likes take homeless people in for a few days to help them. He calls us frequently to help, and I know he has a good heart. But he also spends his days out on the streets hanging (and drinking) with the homeless. He feels different because he has a place to lay his head at night yet in most ways, he's living the same life they are.

I know "Grandma" hates it. Stan sees friends; she sees bums.

I imagine her "negative attitude" is nothing more then her expressing her feelings about yet another homeless person camping on her couch. This time, it is a woman we'd just sent to rehab for a second time, who left and hitchhiked back only to find her drug-dealer boyfriend shacked up with another girl.

I'm supposed to go over there this afternoon to talk to her.

Stan wants me to convince her to go into a home so he can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants in her house.

I want to tell her to change her will, removing him as her POA.

I'll probably do neither, listening and encouraging them to work things out instead.

I will pray that the Lord precedes me, making my every step and word His.

Because on my own, I have no idea what to do.

You figured it out, now what will you do about it?

That's the question I'm asking myself today and I doubt a resolution will occur before I sign off.

I generally write about a problem post-solution, but today I'm sharing in the hopes that someone will say ME, TOO and commit to making a change with me.

It won't be easy.

I recently came across a "Happy Birthday, Jesus" card I'd written in church last year. In it, my birthday gift to Jesus was my entire life, a commitment I'd made prior to going into full-time ministry.

As a little post-script, I'd asked the Lord for more REFINER'S FIRE.

Herein lies my naivety.

I'd done this once before, prayed for that fire that removes all impurities in my life. Thirteen years later I was ready to emerge from the heat. I'd erroneously believed all I needed was a little polishing.

I swore never to do that again!

Yet here I was, once again asking for the fire, and once again thinking I only needed buffing.

I was wrong. Again.

The fire is hot.

And it hurts.

Despite the leaps and bounds of growth in my quest to resemble a making in His image, I still had a ways to go.

Some issues were easy.

But some remained hidden.

Until last week.

One year after asking for more fire, I was hit with the one thing that has become a major stumbling block for me.

I still have a stubborn streak a mile wide.

And a very, very rebellious heart.

Until now, it hasn't been evident because I've been making the right choices, doing the right things.

My rebellion didn't keep me from being compassionate, or responsible, or loyal.

But it did keep me from walking in the fullness of what the Lord has for me.

And now that it has been revealed, I have to make a decision to make. Change. Or keep on, knowing the Lord has called me to work on this area of my life.

The very issue at heart, the rebellion, instantly rears its ugly head. Why should I have to? I'm doing good things here. Don't tell me to change. If you don't want me as I am, get someone else.

Even as those thoughts enter, I recognize the devil.

So I rebuke them as a new wave hits. What if I can't change? What if I'll never be who God wants me to be?

A little harder to recognize, but even humble-sounding, meek-mannered thoughts are still the devil's when they promote fear and sorrow.

So here it is.

Me with a microscope showing the speck in my eye (which has probably been a beam to everyone else all along) trying to figure out what to do next.

Ever the pragmatist, I long for a list that gives me A-B-C instructions that I can cross off in my quest to banish this rebellious streak once and for all.

Yet also at times a dreamy idealist, I just want to be able to wake up perfect and be able to change the world just as easily.

Since neither scenario is going to happen, I have to walk in faith, submit EVERY thought and conversation to the Lord, and ask the proverbial WWJD when selecting meals, music, movies, and more.

I pray that in time it won't be so hard, that my words and choices become more Christ-like without effort, and that my will is broken and molded into HIS will for me.

This struggle isn't hard, or particularly deep. My moral compass is still pointing due North. But if someone tells me to go left, I often want to go right.

It is the underlying issue, the rebellion, that creates the barrier between me and God.

This is what I am committing to Him. My will.

What about you? Is there an area of your life He has pointed out to you that needs a little work? Something big or something small...it all becomes HUGE if it stands between us and the Lord.

And quite frankly, it is the smaller things that cause the bigger divide.

It's easier to give up the big problems- drinking, drugs, gambling...

Than it is to let go of the small ones...unforgiveness, pride, rebellion..

What better time than now?

Christmas 2000-something

Twelve years ago I wrote what would now be considered a blog post, but then it was just playing around on the computer pretending that someone would care what I had to say!

The depth of my writing would fill a kiddie pool, and there was very little perspective outside of my own world.

That said, it was fun to look back and see what my thoughts were then.

I thought I'd share them today. (Unlike most posts, NO NAMES were changed!)

Christmas Cards and Status Updates

by Jeanni Thrasher

            I did a little better this year. My Christmas cards arrived at their destinations by Christmas Eve. Last year, my Christmas greetings included the line “Happy Easter” with my signature.

            While the new year is a time for looking forward, Christmas is usually a time for reflection. Family and friends send cards with photos and letters detailing highlights of their year. Of course, no-one ever writes about their son’s failing grades or the plumbing bill that required a second mortgage, but even non-politicians have the innate ability to become spin masters at Christmastime.

            So as I’m reading these newsy updates, I realize how young most of my friends are. We may have been born around the same time, but these people have not aged at the same rate. There’s no evidence of bad knees, sore backs, or memory loss. They are tanned, toned, and joined by adorable little offspring in matching outfits with perfect coifs.  I, on the other hand, am in the running for the female doppelganger of the Pillsbury Dough Boy and on most days, my children appear as if they have just rolled out of bed.

            However, I do enjoy reading these letters, even if they do have suspiciously fictitious undertones. It is a way to reconnect, and to reminisce of days gone by. I remember Christmas 1984 when Beth, Jennifer, and I piled into my mom’s old Bonneville and cruised the local strip for hours. And Christmas 1997 when Melissa and I had the misguided notion that it would be fun to take our combined eight children to a Christmas parade in 37-degree weather.

            Now I’ve found a way to reconnect year-round. During a reunion with my childhood best friend Margaret, after a thirty-year absence, in Tyler, Texas last summer, our conversation turned to former friends and acquaintances. Margaret had updates on dozens of them.

            “How do you know all this?” I wondered aloud. I mean, she knew DETAILS. Where they worked, how old their kids were, what they had for dinner last night. This does NOT happen by sending out belated Christmas cards.

            “Facebook,” she chirped.

            WHAT?!!! This was my law-abiding, rule-following, keep-it-between-the-lines friend. On Facebook? Isn’t that a breeding ground for internet predators?

            I must have wondered that aloud too because she began defending the site with the same ardent defense my teenagers had once unsuccessfully presented to me. But this time, out of courtesy, I listened.

            “No-one can access your page unless you accept them.” Wow, it’s like junior high again. You have to be accepted…She wasn’t exactly winning me over.

            “It’s safe. It’s a lot of fun. It’s a great way to reconnect with people you went to school with.” Now I was a little intrigued. There were people I wondered about. Of course, there were also some that I never wanted to see again, but she assured me that I could “ignore” them.

            Still a little skeptical, we parted with me promising to look into it. So when I got home, I decided to visit the infamous Facebook. I created a profile. I searched for childhood friends, classmates, and relatives. I requested friends, and confirmed friend requests. I viewed friends’ pages. Was everyone really that thin? I dug through the desk drawer to find that Kodak disc that contained pictures from the decade when I could still wear a bikini and uploaded a new profile picture. I laugh when former classmates say I haven’t changed a bit. Thank goodness it’s not a webcam!

            I must admit I was hooked. I spent hours that first week clicking away. I was struck with the odd realization that Facebook was like that old Health talk you got each year. If you “click” on someone, it’s like “clicking” on everyone they’re friends with, and then “clicking” on THEIR friends, and so on… What a network!

            You give status updates. What are you doing now? What are you doing NOW? Well, I wasn’t cooking. I wasn’t cleaning. I wasn’t thirteen either with only the responsibility of making my bed. So I logged off. I do still check my Facebook page every few days and am delighted each time an old friend has signed up and wants to reconnect. It’s like receiving Christmas cards all year long!