Journal Jots – Blog

You’re the Father to the fatherless,

the answer to my dreams 

—Glory to the King by Hillsong

One of my very favorite songs by Hillsong is Glory to the King, and yes, it’s true—I tear up whenever I listen to this song on the treadmill, just like this morning. The two lines that choke me up every single time are those in our quote above because you see, I’ve been an orphan since the age of twenty-three, and to be honest, I think I was an orphan long before that, at least in my heart. Motherless from sixteen years of age, I never felt loved or close to my mom once in all that time, something I look forward to God correcting someday on streets of gold.

But for some reason, it’s the loss of my father—whom we all called “Daddy”— at the age of twenty-three that rips me up the most when I hear the lines above because you see, my dad died right after I became a Christian … BUT not before God gave me the precious gift of reconciliation.

My dad was an eye surgeon and one of the best ophthalmologists in St. Louis, but I’ll be honest—he was a bit quirky, especially after he became a widower. He was a no-nonsense, bottom-line type of guy who had a charming personality but was really a recluse deep down inside. He’d do crazy things like throw string over the telephone wire outside his bedroom window to see which way the wind was blowing rather than break down and buy a weather vane. His television chair faced away from the door, so he bolted a really ugly wood-framed mirror catty-corner to the wall and to my mother’s intricately carved antique hutch so he could see anybody walking up behind him.

I won’t sugarcoat it here—I hated him. The man kicked me out of the house at 10:00 p.m. one night because I gave him a dirty look when he ordered me to make his bed. And trust me, you did not give my dad any sass or dirty looks or you found yourself on the floor. But I was twenty-one and a bit of a rebel, so when he lunged at me, I tried to ward him off with a kick in the stomach and some choice words. Needless to say, I found myself out on the streets late at night, along with my little sister, Katie, who insisted on coming with me.

Somehow things worked out, although I never attributed it to God. My orphan mentality extended to Him as well because I had two parents that professed to know Him while they emotionally abused each of their children and each other. My sister and I stayed with one of our married sisters for two nights before I was able to find a furnished flat and support both of us with my measly secretarial job. Dad never once called to see where or how we were, so I vowed I’d never go back …

And then I met the “Father to the fatherless,” a loving God who took me from the cold and bitter dark into the glorious light and I was no longer a rejected orphan but a child of the King, greatly loved. Talk about the “answer to my dreams,” Jesus Christ definitely was. He picked me up, dusted me off and replaced my heart of stone with a heart of flesh, just like He promised in His Word, and I have NEVER, EVER been the same!! Oh my, I would have gladly done anything for Him after that … or so I thought … until I got my very first marching orders. “Forgive and love your father,” He said, and as God is my witness, one long, agonizing groan trailed from my lips.

“But this is the guy who beat me with his belt, his shoe and a cat-of-nine-tails,” I’d argue to God, “the man who belittled me and demeaned me. He called me an angle-shooter and a whore, and finally turned me out to fend for myself.” Forgive him, the thought came, and love him. “But how?” I moaned. “Love is a decision,” my prayer partner Joy would say, “do it for God—for Him and through Him.” If you love me, keep my commands — John 14:15 and Anyone who loves me will obey my teaching” — John 14:23.

Heavy sigh. So, yep, that’s exactly what I did. First I repented for my bitterness toward my dad, then I prayed to forgive him and then I put feet to my decision, along with a lot of prayer. “Help me to love him, God,” I would pray, and He did. I was single at the time, so once a week I started going to see Daddy, which consisted of me bringing his favorite dish—homemade beef stew for him to enjoy later—and me watching TV with him while we only talked during commercials. At the end of the evening, we’d only said a handful of words all night, but at the door, I would always put my arms around him and tell him I loved him. Of course, he never hugged me nor said it back. But I can tell you right now that one of the most poignant memories of my entire life is the night many months later that I went to hug my father good night. Suddenly I felt the slow circle of his arms around my back, awkward and halting. “I love you, Daddy,” I whispered with tears in my eyes. “I love you, too,” came his gruff answer, and light years of healing took place in my heart in the single drop of a tear.

That was a turning point for my dad and me, a restoration for a rejected little girl and the bitter, angry man who never really knew the love of God in His life until an equally bitter daughter gave him a glimpse. My dad and I became very close after that until he died mere months later. But not before he gave me the greatest gift he ever could.

As some of you know, I grew up being ridiculed and made fun of by classmates and my own family (sound familiar with Katie O’Connor in A Hope Undaunted??) because I was skinny, had crooked teeth and psoriasis. Oh, and I was a major CDQ (caffeinated drama queen, only the caffeine was Dr. Pepper instead of coffee!), so I was easy to make fun of. Over the course of my teen years, I had at least five guys tell me I was ugly, so I never felt pretty or attractive until one miraculous day when I was showing my dad our family picture someone took at my sister’s wedding. “You’re the best-looking one in the bunch,” he said in his no-nonsense way, and my heart clutched in my chest while years of insecurity slowly crumbled away. His words may seem shallow to some, but to me they were the words of my Heavenly father spoken through the lips of my daddy on earth. “You are altogether beautiful, my darling; there is no flaw in you” — Song of Solomon 4:7.

And you know what? I am—through Him! And so are you!

Have a “beautiful” weekend!

GIVEAWAY!!! Join me this Monday, August 13-16 for my Seeker post entitled, “Kiss-ology 101: Warming up the Pages with Romantic Tension.” I’ll include plenty of excerpts from upcoming books and have a giveaway of any of my books including A Love Surrendered or A Light in the Window, so hope to see you there!

Hugs,

Julie

As the deer pants for streams of water,

so my soul pants for you, my God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.

When can I go and meet with God? 

—Psalms 42:1-2

You know, a few days ago when I was doing my Bible study, the Scripture above really hit me hard. Oh my, to pant, to thirst, to crave God is something my soul has always longed for, but I’ll be honest—it’s also something that eludes me more than I like.

So I started to think—what exactly is it that I DO pant and thirst for, crave so much that I surrender my will and my time to it more than anything else? Well, believe it or not, the first thing that came to mind is that sense of peace and relaxation Keith and I experience at bedtime when he snuggles up close while I read my book. He always encircles me with his arm and throws his leg over my body because the elevation helps to relieve his sore hip (sound familiar? Patrick O’Connor did the same thing with Marcy!). With a long, languid sigh, he closes his eyes and says almost every single night—“Ah … the favorite part of my day, babe.” And I always smile because it’s my favorite part of the day too—that moment in time when all my worries and problems fade away as I lose myself in a good book while the love of my life is so very close, both of us resting and reveling in the peace and safety of God.

Then there are those precious moments with my family—oh, how I crave those!!  Whenever we get together, be it babysitting, dinners out or just a quick visit, it becomes a celebration of sorts where we laugh and pray and share the events of our week. It’s fun to catch up and smile over the antics of my granddaughter, especially when she giggles over crazy JuJu’s sad attempts to sway and dance with my hands or when she reaches for one of my books WITHOUT prompting and without being set up (God’s truth … although I did re-enact for this pic!!). What can I say? My granddaughter has good taste in books … 😉

Then of course, I love to go biking with my hubby, which usually begins with breakfast at Panera and ends with black mango tea from QT. But I’ll tell you what—after biking 12 to 14 miles over mud paths and meandering forest trails in the summer heat, I am panting and thirsting BIG TIME for nothing but a tall glug of water.

And then it hit me. I crave the peace and rest with Keith at the end of the day, but that’s exactly the kind of peace and rest I experience with God when I finally turn a problem or worry over to Him. I long for the love and laughter I enjoy with my family, and yet it is so very much like the love and laughter I experience periodically with God when I am overwhelmed by His goodness or beholden to His mercy. And all that panting and thirsting for a cool drink of clear, clean water after an invigorating but exhausting trek on the trails? Not unlike the quench of the Spirit after a rat race of book deadlines and writer’s block, refreshing me so I can continue on with what He has called me to do.

“So, God,” I say to the patch of blue peeking through the breeze-kissed limbs of the gently swaying trees off my lower deck, “How exactly do I learn to thirst and pant and crave You all the more?”

“Run to me,” the thought came.

Huh? Not run after Him, mind you, which implies you can’t catch Him. Not run because of Him, eye on the finish line of being the Christian He has called you to be. And not even run with Him, sprinting so hard to achieve the things He’s called you to do.

Nope, just run.

TO Him.

“When can I go and meet with God?” the last line of our Scripture asks. Not where, not how, not why … but when.

Every moment of every day.  With every giggle and every tear. Every win and every loss. Every need and every sacrifice. With every thought and every breath.

To include Him with a heart of gratitude in every single thing I do, knitting the fabric of my life with the thread of His Spirit. Acknowledging Him, thanking Him, asking Him, leaning on Him, worshipping Him … and suddenly I find myself running to Him like a little child in need of comfort, peace, joy and rest … panting, thirsting and craving Him like the very breath in my lungs.

Because He is. And He should be. The total source of oxygen in our lives. The wind beneath our wings. The breeze in our face. The air in our lungs.

May we all breathe in, breathe deep and breathe often.

GIVEAWAY!!!

August 3-5, 2012: A chance to win your choice of any of my signed books when you join me at Tina Pinson’s blog for MARKETING 101! Hope to see you there, and here’s the link:

http://tinapinson.blogspot.com/2012/08/marketing-101-julie-lessman.html

Happy weekend, all!

Hugs,

Julie

Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us,

fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith …

—Hebrews 12:1-2

WHOO-HOO … it’s time to go for the gold!! Don’t you just LOVE the Olympics? Two wonderful weeks every four years where athletes and patriots from all over the globe convene to test their mettle, prove their endurance and just go for the gold. Proving to the world and themselves that they and their country are THE BEST! Without question, whether athlete or spectator, the Olympics are an exciting event. And an enlightening one.

Trust me, I’m no athlete, and I failed balance beam in high school to prove it. Yes, I played on a softball team once as a little girl, but I was so bad and so skinny that my brother would joke, “What position do you play, Julie—the foul line?”

But I do know one thing. To succeed you have to focus on the finish line … the ball … or that final lap that separates you and the others from victory. In another words, keep your eye on the prize rather than the journey to get there.

Last week when my husband and I went biking, we went on one of our favorite trails that offers a variety of terrain to meander, from gravel and blacktop to mud trails and narrow, rocky paths. Some of the trails are flat, some are hilly, some wend around lakes while others weave through forests or sunny, cactus-filled fields. The scenery is beautiful and invigorating, but WHOA, BABY, one thing I quickly learned was to keep my eye on the road lest I end up in a ditch. Once while I was crossing a narrow path over a ravine, I got a little skitsy and started slowing down and wobbling—something you definitely don’t want to do on a bike over a yawning 30-foot drop, trust me!! “Don’t look down at the ravine, Julie,” Keith said when he saw me start to veer off, “but keep your eye on where you want to go.”

Where I want to go. Somehow that didn’t make a lot of sense to me at the time because by gum, if there’s a cliff to the right of me, I sure don’t want to take my eye off of it by staring straight ahead! And yet, as I was soon to discover, Keith’s advice is straight out of classic Mountain Bike 101: “Always look where you want to go and never look at what you don’t want to hit! Looking ahead on the trail is critical, especially with cornering and obstacles.”

Looking ahead is critical. Ah, yes … for the athletes in the Olympics and for you and me in the race set before us. And what is that “race” exactly? To meet my deadline on the next book? To tackle that mountain of “to do’s” before vacation without losing one’s cool?? For my daughter to pass the bar exam she took this week? (Which, by the way, a huge THANK YOU to everyone who prayed for her. She won’t find out till mid-September if she passed, but I will let you know if she does.)

Well, yes … and no. Yes, we all have tasks and problems we need to tackle on a daily basis, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned (and relearn on a daily basis!), it’s that in order to achieve victory, you have to keep your eye on the prize—Jesus—and not on the problems, tasks and failings that tend to draw us away.

For instance, because I snuck Marcy and Patrick’s prequel in between two contracted books, I am way behind on my next deadline and tempted to break out in a cold sweat. But the truth is, when I stop focusing on the number of days left to complete the task or all I have to do between now and then and just lift my eyes to Jesus, something remarkable happens. Suddenly my mind is flooded with all the times He pulled my butt from the fire, all the tears He dried when I was sure all was lost, all the victories He gave when I thought I had failed.

Because the bottom line for us as Christians is that He IS the prize. Not that raise or promotion, not those accolades or contest wins, not that happy family or great marriage. Nope, it’s Him … and the peace and joy and confidence that comes from focusing on Him in the race set before us—our lives. Emulating Him every mile, every lap, every stretch of the balance beam in a life where we juggle tears and trials, “to do’s” and “cannots.” Because He not only “can” give us victory in every situation, but the confidence and peace to go along with it while we’re running the race. And then look out! Because as Olympic champion Eric Liddell once said, “when I run I feel His pleasure.”

His Pleasure. Oh, Lord, please—YES!! The one true prize in a race worth running.

May all the victories in your races belong to Him, and may your weekend be a winning one!

Hugs,

Julie