Enough and More

I belong to a rich family, wealthy in love, fun and those all important memory-making traditions.  In fact one could call us the "More Family" and pretty much get it correctly.  Our true name, however, is "Carver."  The clan consists of my parents, me and my five siblings and our spouses and 20 grandchildren all born within 11 years of each other.  Far be it from us to eliminate an old tradition to make room for the new.  No.  That would be too -- well, simple.  Each new way of commemorating the holiday season becomes a link to the treasured chain we fondly know as Christmas.

"Christmas will be smaller this year, much smaller," I could hear my father proclaiming regretfully each December when I was a young girl.  "Don't expect too much."  Feeding six children on a teacher's salary was never easy, without the added cost of gift purchases.  Our father was not wanting us to get our hopes up, yet we always had more than enough.

As we six children wed, beginning households of our own, magnetically we were drawn together again each December anticipating the long-kept rituals:  caroling in rest homes, craft making, walks through the Euclid Avenue Nativity scenes and viewing the spectacular neighborhood of lights.

A cherished event was our Christmas Eve progressive dinner.  Beginning in Hesperia for one course of a meal, we in our line of minivans wound our way down to Upland, followed by Walnut, on to church in Pomona for candlelight service, to three of our homes in Chino, ending up at our parents' Chino dwelling.  The laughter shared as we moved all 34 of us to each home was even better than the food we consumed throughout the night.

So it went each year.  "More" was exciting.  "More" was fun.  "More" was happily chaotic --

That is, until our father fell from a roof, severing his spine in June of 1998 leaving him paralyzed and completely ventilator dependent.  The commotion prior to his accident was for glee; but after, for survival.  I recollect not much about the first Christmas after he was injured, except to say we numbly went through the motions.  Because Dad could not fit through anyone's front door in his wheelchair, he did not attend the yearly dinner.

"Let's do less this year," someone mentioned as we planned for Christmas 1999.  Less?  The "More" family doing less?  Childhood fear of having to do without echoed in me.  But less it was as we met only at church then at our parents'.

Because our party was smaller, more thought was put into costumes and a script for the reenactment of the Christmas story, avoiding the usual hustle-bustle of kids' digging in Grandma's closet for shepherd wear, wiremen robes and pillows for Mary's stomach.  For once all truly was calm and bright as we closed our evening singing "Silent Night" much less off-key than we ever had.

We gave my father, Paul Carver, a chin-operated electronic page turner that Christmas.  Two weeks later his book was opened to Page 66, and he died, the pages of his life numbering 66 years.  Dad's counselor spoke of his last session saying that our father at that time could not stop speaking about the incredibly beautiful and meaningful Christmas he shared with his wife, children and grandkids.

I will forever hold close to my heart that sacred night, the Christmas when less was 
enough -- and more.

Diane Mann, 2000

Printed in the Chino Champion

My Journey with Gratitude

My
Gratitude Journal in Momento App.

According to the Momento app on my smartphone, it's been two years since I started a gratitude journal.  The challenge was to record three things a day for which I'm grateful.  I know many of us enter this discipline for the month of November, as I did in 2011, but I chose to continue this as a daily practice.  I began the venture partly inspired from having read "One Thousand Gifts" by Ann Voskamp and "The Grateful Heart" by Wilkie Au but mostly just having become aware of something true about me:  

I lacked gratitude.  

Certainly in my head I knew that God had given me much, but I didn't experience thankfulness in my heart, my very being, toward God for all His gifts to me.  Neither did I spend much time or effort giving thanks to all-giving God.  Habitually, every day for as long as I can remember, I have prayed a prayer of thanks for each of my children and my husband, now including my son- and daughters-in-law and grandchildren.  But for quite a long time, that was where my giving of thanks began and ended.  

How I longed to be changed in this area, for God's Spirit to remake my ungrateful heart into something new, a heart that was receptive to and recognized all it had received and a heart that in response to God's generosity returned often to say, "Thank you."  I desired to be like the newly cleansed leper, who "fell on his face at Jesus' feet, giving him thanks."  Honestly, though, I just didn't see how this could happen.  I knew on my own strength I could not just "become grateful." It's impossible for me to change me!

It was then God invited me to meet with Him in the discipline of gratitude.

When I use the word "discipline" here,  I must clarify that "disciplined" is not a word that typically describes me, and that in itself is an understatement!  My husband used to joke that the only thing I did consistently was to drink a Diet Coke every day.  And at the time, he was right.  But when I look at discipline as a time of being discipled, or taught, by Christ, a time when He invites me to sit down with Him so that He can teach me gratitude, I am drawn to respond by entering into this adventure with Him.  I am not coming to Him with my heart just as it should be but rather just as it is -- sometimes thank-less, sometimes thank-some and other times thank-full!

"Thank-less" would entail those times when I come to Him totally grumpy and grumbling, bringing my complaints before Him and cannot find anything for which to give thanks.  I have an old journal from several years back wherein I recorded some struggling times, and in the margins I listed five things a day that I titled "Five things that I can stand about my life."  It later became "Five things that are okay about my life" then led to my desire to begin a gratitude list.

"Thank-some" is how I describe the things for which I am ready to say, "Thank you," but there's a huge concern attached to the giving of thanks.  For example, "Thank you so much for my job," and I really want to end there but continue, "but God, help me to get my transcripts completed," the emphasis being mainly on the concern on my heart.

And "thank-full" applies, of course, to those times where God's generosity is so evident to me that my natural response gushing forth with no effort is, "Thank you!"

I am learning that I needn't come thank-full in order to say, "Thank you," and that mysteriously in this encounter God has changed and is changing this previously not-so-grateful heart of mine.  I learn much about the heart of Jesus by experiencing His welcome of me, that acceptance of me just as I am, not as I wish I were.

 Whatever condition I'm in when I sit down with Christ during this time to which He's invited me to "reason together" He and I, to learn from Him, to allow Him to change me -- whether thank-less, thank-some or thank-full -- I let Jesus lead the time by asking Him to review the day with me and to show me what His gifts were to me from the day before (though some people may do this at the end of a day, looking over that day).  I then list the things for which I'd like to say, "Thank you," then thank Him for each one and sit for a few minutes in gratitude, a pretty special time between Jesus and me.  

Think of December 26, that day after Christmas when the gifts have all been opened, all still lying around to be enjoyed, delighted in, relished.  That's what this time is like:  an opportunity to look at the gifts from the previous day. What was unwrapped yesterday?  What was revealed about me? about God?   What did He give to me that I may have failed to notice?  What beauty made my heart skip?  What may have touched me in a deep way?

Two years after having begun the gratitude journal, my list has grown to include 573 entries.  My engineer hubby calculated this to equal 1.27 entries per day, and my goal was three per day. Some days I simply print in the margins of my journal and don't assign a number to those things for which I'm grateful.  And many days I don't "show up" at all.  Regardless of my not-so-glittering performance, Jesus with patience and kindness keeps extending that invitation to spend time with Him in this way.  Best of all, He continues to change me in the process.

And for that, I am extremely thank-full!

Diane Mann, 2013

Some Questions to Ponder:

What has your journey with gratitude been like?

Are you willing to enter into a "discipline" at which you may sometimes fail?  

Is it easy for you to come to Jesus just as you are, or do you tend to wait until you feel your heart is where it should be before you come to Him?

Is Jesus asking you to spend some time learning gratitude?  If so, together decide how this time would look.

You may want to spend time reading Luke 17:11-19 about the cleansing of the lepers and the one who returned to say, "Thank you."  What does this Scripture cause you to want to pray?

Layers

There it is again

That area I thought was healed

The ordeal I thought was done

The fight I thought was won

"Another layer," they say

Another layer of healing

Brought to the surface

Not so much the revisiting of an old wound

As a brand-new visit

Of a brand-new aspect

Of the same old wound

It feels like, here we are again

But here I am anew

Looking at another layer of me

Looking at another layer of You

I want to scream in frustration

At myself

For not getting over my issues

But Your Presence finally quiets me

Until at last we sit with what is

Sifting through it all

Together

My ineptitude, Your affirmation

My ingratitude, Your persistent generosity

My stubbornness, Your patience

My unforgiveness, Your mercy 

My recurring illness, Your hand of healing

My fierce anger, Your infinite kindness

My ceaseless "why's," Your ceaseless Presence

My exhaustion, Your breath reviving

Urging me to surrender 

To rest on your Big Love Ocean

To know You

To know me

To know You in me

And me in You

Again

And yet again

Within these layers

Of me

Discovering layers

Of You.

diane mann, 2013

My Father's Voice

As a little girl, when Sunday School was over, I'd dash to my parents' class, 
reach on my tippy toes to sneak some sugar cubes from their refreshment table then make my way through a jungle of tall people until I finally reached my dad, who would  pick me up with his strong arms. Back then, all the men wore dark-colored suits. Once after searching for a while, I found a pair of legs  I was sure were my father's. Hugging this leg tightly and fully expecting to find the rest of my father attached to it, I looked up only to discover it was not my daddy after all! 

What eventually would lead me to my father was his loud, booming voice. His laughter permeated the room far above that of any other noise, and that inevitably drew me to him.

Even when I became adult with children of my own, I'd hear my father's laugh in the church sanctuary and know he was there, which I always found comforting.

A strong voice, a thundering laugh. A sound that could be heard above the others. That was my father's voice.

Was. I say that because he broke his neck after falling from a roof.  He became completely paralyzed from his neck down and relied on a ventilator to supply his every breath. Being unable to move at all was harsh enough, but for the first two months following his injury, he also could not speak. 

I learned to read lips. Each day that I would enter his hospital room, I was 
able to see him mouth out "I love you" one more time. I read statements such 
as "Unbelievable," "Why?" "I will never move again," but the most memorable 
and important to me was, "I love you." That, followed by a strong kiss on 
my hand from him left me more than grateful for each visit, for each day. My 
dad thought he was useless at times, but he was giving out blessings right 
there from his hospital bed.

Funny. He had no voice, yet I was listening more intently than ever. 
"Dad," I would ask, "are you still the richest man in the world?" (as he 
claimed to be before his accident).

"I am," his lips would mouth silently.

Months later, after therapists had worked much with his equipment,  the day came 
that he was able to speak. With only my mom and a hospital worker 
present, the words he chose were, "Jesus loves me.  This I know."

So many messages are heard by us when we travel dark roads, when tragedy 
threatens to take over our lives. Without a doubt, the "Why me?" creeps in. 
Questions prevail about God's goodness or lack of it. Blaming others, 
blaming self. Messages of our own uselessness and helplessness can cripple 
us inside and leave us believing lies above the truth. 

Through all the times of questioning and doubt, however, there's a father's 
voice in the room. It leads you to Him, the One who will pick you up with 
His strong, welcoming arms. A persistent voice, one that we need to hear 
above all the others, saying, "I love you. This one thing I long for you to know." A 
voice that leads you straight to where you belong. There's no mistaking it. 
It's the voice of your father. Do you hear Him? 

Diane Mann

Treasures From the Trail, Part 8 - From Thanks to Praise

I remember not
The exact day of our hike
Nor the area in which we sat
But a boulder - some boulder
Somewhere
Beneath us
Seating us

I remember not
Whether it was Brent
Or I who said
"Let's say
What we're grateful for"

Feet dangling over the edge
Swinging as children's
No sensible rhythm
The popcorn of thanks
Began

One from me
Two from him
Pause
A burst of
Back-and-forth
Much like the beat
Of a toddler
With two drumsticks
Experimenting

Health, strength
To climb, gear
Flashlights, flame
On which to cook
Freeze-dried food
Shelter, air mattresses
Air, vibrant blue sky, luscious clouds
Trees that tell so many stories
And speechlessly preach
Of how we long to be

Unimaginable creativity of color
In the blossoms
Water that flows
That stays still
Inviting us to rest
Beside it

God, extremely good
Having ushered us
Through difficulties
Deaths, depression, illness yet
Therein rebirthing our love
And enjoyment
Of each other
And of Him
(The pain between two
Only those two can know
Likewise the miracle
Of healing and hope)

Silence
It seems we're finished
But sort of not
The time too sacred
To yet hem shut
And be done with it

"Let's sit with our thanks awhile"
I interject

Neither of us can say just when it happened
And certainly not how
For what human could contrive this?
But the thanks
Like morning mist
Lifting one particle at a time
Became rising raucous praise
Too rich for words

Like watching the
Finale of a fireworks show
We quietly witnessed
Gratitude
Transformed
To praise
Of the quietest, loudest kind

I remember not
Who
But one of us said
"Amen"
And we departed
From the rock
That hosted us
Never quite the same

This I shall always remember.

diane mann 2013

The Exchange

to embrace, one must let go of some thing

to wear, one must take something off

to receive, one  must clear space

to love, one must forsake all other lovers

to choose a path, one must reject other paths

to worship, one must ignore idols

to focus on a thing, one must have blurred vision of other things

to win over lies, one must surrender to truth

to hear the voice so small, so still, one must become deaf to screaming messages

to turn towards, one must turn away from 

to flow with gratitude, one must be drained of comparisons

to be who one is, one must shed masquerades (as glittering as they may be)

to live, -- ah, to  live fully, to live truly

I

must

die

diane mann 2013

In Support of Marriage

"Equal" signs are popping up on facebook, along with the marriage-between-a-man-and-a-woman statements.  While weighty decisions are being made about marital unions in our country, I find myself also taking a look at marriage, not out there so much with the implications on a nationwide scale, but here in my home and in the relationships of people I know.  Do I "support marriage"?  How do I do so in my own life and encourage my friends to do the same?

My husband, Brent, phoned from Alabama last night, where he is on a business trip, and we were, unusual for us, actually enjoying talking on the phone, like two teenagers who are just getting to know each other. We both noticed how much fun we were having, and the conversation led to how God has brought us to a place of enjoying -- finding joy in -- one another.  Brent mentioned he felt it was a rare, beautiful thing that's going on with us and said sadly he doesn't see a whole lot of people super keen on their spouses.  I mentioned that God had been leading me to pray for marriages, naming a few.

Brent paused.  "Diane, how many people in this world have someone praying for their marriage?  Think about it.  That's a neat thing you're doing."

I know many people have prayed for mine.  And I know the sure hand of God that has wrought beautiful things in my marriage relationship.  I know of His redemptive heart, His longing to make impoverished places rich again, to pour His love into us and see us show one another the love and mercy shown us.

And I know pain.  I know what it's like to feel unenjoyed, lonely, unseen, misunderstood.  Wounds my husband and I did not even know existed have been pricked unbeknownst to either of us at times, and we hurt each other deeply. Then there are the times we've intentionally been critical or acted with disdain and exasperation toward each other.  For a stretch, our marriage was a raw, huge "ouch" for us both.

Committing your life to another, with promises to cherish and love, is really an impossible endeavor, one that for us has meant running out of love then running to the One who is love to show us what love looks like.  I know of not many easy marriages. Sadly they can become a place of destruction rather than a place of healing.  But God specializes in changing people, in transforming lives.  I know we are surprised at our ineptness at redeeming ourselves, but our Maker is not at all surprised and stands by willing to step in as we allow and invite Him into our places of pain. 

Below I offer some ways to support marriage, the one that is yours:

*Seek help when needed.   Proverbs 11:14 states, "Where no wise guidance is, the people fall; But in the multitude of counselors there is safety." 

*Dismantle the idol of the perfect partner.  Write on a balloon ways you think your spouse ought to be.  Let it go.  The ways you wish he or she were have served as an idol, and they actually blind you to who your spouse is, making you unable to receive your mate for the gift he or she really is.  Again, let it go.

*Ask Jesus to meet your deepest needs.  No one else was ever intended to.  Confess to Him your longing for your spouse's love more than His love if you have done this. 

*When you find yourself viewing your mate through a critical, without-grace lens, go straight to Jesus.  Sit in His love, asking Him to pour into you.  Do this often.  As you receive His love and allow it to change you, you will be more gracious in your love for your spouse.  You cannot try harder to love nor conjure up a gracious spirit.  This only happens through Christ in you.

*Compliment the good you see.

*Thank God daily for the gift of your husband or wife.

*Ask God to show you how He sees your spouse and to notice what He is up to in his or her life.  Seek to have His heart toward your loved one.  Ask Him to show you ways you can come alongside Him in loving her or him.

*Celebrate the day of your marriage each month.   For us, it's Happy 12th.  In the simplest of ways, you can convey the message, "I'm still glad I married you."  A favorite candy bar, a note, a coffee date -- you get it.

*When working through a hard issue together, choose to put it aside for a time.  Select a date on which you will again talk about the ongoing problem.  This is really freeing to be able to enjoy each other even though not all is resolved.

*Live under the lens of Christ's love for you.  Your spouse will never understand you fully and may completely misunderstand you at times, not seeing you for who you are.  Ask God what He sees, and live more constantly under His gaze.

*Accept the fact that you cannot change anyone.  Keep tending to your own relationship with God, and continually entrust your mate to His care.

*Throw out the comparisons, whether it be comparing your marriage to another, your husband or wife to another.  Nobody would really want to trade dirty laundry if they knew the reality of others' hardships.

*Allow space in your home for both of you to become more fully who you really are -- two very different people with your own personalities, interests, likes, dislikes.  You may not "get" your wife's love of candles, for example.  But ask her what she loves about candles.  Wives, see what it is that he enjoys so much about flashlights.  Find out what lights up your mate.

*Reminisce together on ways God has blessed your relationship.

These are some ways God has helped us to nurture our marriage.  The hardships and failures really have caused us to become more dependent on His love and grace toward us.  When we are weak, He indeed is strong.  May He be your strength in your most broken places and infuse your lives and relationships with His love and mercy.

Treasures from the Trail, Part 7 - Trail Names

In the book “Wild,” a woman's recounting of her hike along the Pacific Crest Trail, I learned that through-hikers typically receive trail names, monikers given to them by others or thought of by themselves.   My friend Carla, who went on a High Sierra adventure just weeks before I did, reported back to me that she had given herself a trail name, MeadowLark!  So hiking along, I kept my mind open and searching for what my trail name would be.

John Denver in his song “Rocky Mountain High,” sings these words, “seeking grace in every step he takes.”  This song was replaying in my mind, singing in me as I ventured, helping me realize that I, too, with each step am watching for grace.  I tried a few names on for size before I adopted the name “Grace-Seeker,” not the grooviest of the names I'd conjured up, as I was hoping for something with a word about nature in it (Grace Blossom for example), but “Grace-Seeker” settled in me as the most fitting.  I felt funny about sharing my new identity with Brent, pretty certain he would find it silly for one to give oneself a trail name.  But I did inform him of my new title, which led to a really good talk between us as we made our way over a couple-mile portion of the John Muir Trail, leading us past several lakes without a climb, trails that meandered a little up, a little down and a lot across -- the way I think every trail ought to be (and life itself, for that matter)! Wildflowers of dizzying brightness and variety sprinkled the mountainsides, granting us lovely views as we conversed.

“What is grace to you?” he asked, inquiring more about my new name. 

The mist from a waterfall when I'm miserably hot, 
a flat spot in the middle of a steep climb, a splash of beautiful color from a flower that speaks life and energy into me when my eyes are weary from viewing miles of gray granite rock and dust, 
a made-for-me-boulder offering a place of rest, the sound of a rushing river in the distance growing closer with each step. Sometimes grace is found in the next breath, then the next or that couple of seconds when the right foot is holding my weight and the bottom of my left receives rest and vice versa. 

One thing is for certain: I'm always on the lookout for grace!

We talked about what that is in everyday life, where when things are difficult, I am seeking out where is God in this and anticipating what surprising way He is going to show me His goodness, sometimes in unavoidably clear ways, other times in ways that harder to discern, bringing me courage, even rest, for the journey of life. God has the universe at His disposal with ways to bless His loved ones, so the creative ways He reveals His goodness really are without limit.  

Grace is described in Scripture as being given lavishly by God.  It's God doing for me what I could not possibly do for myself -- and bestowing it gladly upon me. By golly, if it's around me in such abundance, I want to notice it, depend on it, lean into it, absorb it, to splash in it and let it change the who of me.

Brent is an awesome listener. He tuned into my heart as we walked and asked questions here and there. I can't say that we came up with an amazingly precise definition of grace, but the beauty was in our exploration and reception of it together.

“I thought of my trail name!” Brent blurted out the following day. Surprised that he had been in search of a name for himself, I was eager to know what it was. “PackMann!” he replied. We both found this to be perfectly suited to him, with "Mann" being our last name and Brent's super-hero efficiency at arranging our backpacks. He somehow finds a place for everything we thought couldn't possibly fit, and he is the one who is always helping to retrieve my belongings from my pack. On a subsequent hike, I gave him the middle name “MoonShadow,” because we went on a walk at night and he pointed out that we'd be able to see our shadows in the light of the moon. He notices things like that, causing me to be aware of them.

What unexpected joy we found in seeking out new names and sharing them with each other. The lightheartedness of it was refreshing and brought some levity to our steps.

Sounds like grace to me.

PackMann doing his thing.

Click on link below for video of Brent's insistence we use trail names on final day of hike.  Too fun.

http://youtu.be/uCRj9JKL9UM

Done

Yes, healing is a process
Yet there comes a time
When Christ Himself
Declares
It is finished
It is done
A line has been drawn
Across the ground
On which you journey
Let's leave the hurt here
It serves you no more
The struggle is over
Not to be resurrected
Here it will lie
As forward we walk
In truth.

diane mann 2013