Simple Words

Defeated and dejected, I slowly made my way back to my desk. It had been a challenging morning, and I couldn't seem to get motivated and excited about the projects I have been working on. With no end in sight to the madness that makes up my corporate world, I admitted failure and plopped in my chair. The light on my phone indicated yet another voice mail that had to be answered, another request I wouldn't be able to complete on time or correctly. Inwardly, I let out another "Oy vay!" and picked up the receiver. The message was from an unknown caller, and I perked up when I heard the greeting. "Hi Joy, it's Lisa!" My friend Lisa from Florida had called. With her mellow voice and distinct Boston accent, she recounted how enchanting her daughter looked on her first birthday party, wearing the simple but lovely dress I had bought her for Christmas. She looked absolutely beautiful and everyone gushed over her threads. "Thank you for the gift," Lisa said. Simple words, but my spirit and spunk rebounded and I sat straighter in my chair, with a new determination to make the most of my day. Little did Lisa know that her sweet, short message made all the difference for me that day. I listened to her message twice, wishing I had been there to see and hug that little one year-old miss with the cutest dimples I've ever seen.

So the next time I get the urge to call and leave a message for someone, I think I will. I'll remember what a difference Lisa's message had on me yesterday and how a few simple, but thoughtful words really perked my spirit up.

Joy's Spot of Pride

There's lots of construction taking place on the streets near my house where I usually run. I noticed this the other day as I sat in traffic forever, thinking how unusual it was to have so much traffic at this time of day, on this particular street. As I approached the bottleneck, I saw the culprit. A “Spot of Pride” was being built. Yup, these are areas in the medians all throughout the city streets of the town I live in that have been created as community projects for companies and organizations to maintain the landscaping. Some areas are pretty small, about the size of the front yard in a tight subdivision. Others are bigger, like a tiny park. They all have the wooden sign "Spot of Pride" with the name of the organization that is responsible for its upkeep. And they have small trees, cute little shrubs; some have seasonal flowers, mulch, and an occasional sprout of monkey grass. I think it's a great idea, giving the community a clean, green look and providing organizations the opportunity to give back to the neighborhoods in the area.

After I noticed that the traffic was due to the construction of the new spot of pride in the median, I reflected on the name "Spot of Pride" and its meaning. Do I have "Spots of Pride" in my life? But of course I do! And they have little signs with the names of friends and families that contribute to the upkeep. My favorite pastime, running, is a spot of pride. Kevin, my sweet hubby, is one of the contributors to this spot, encouraging me to maintain an active lifestyle, massaging my legs after a particularly hard run, clandestinely dropping a water bottle off at a predetermined location just so I could be refreshed near the end of a route. My love for music is a spot of pride that has been developed and maintained all throughout my life. There are lots of volunteers contributing at this spot – dozens of friends past and present, my parents, church congregations in many locations and of different denominations. This blog is a spot of pride – a new one for me- where I have enjoyed sharing my ramblings, coherent or otherwise, with friends and family, strangers, and the occasional googler who happens to click upon my written thoughts. I have rediscovered my love for writing and used this blog as an outlet for those thoughts that are either afraid of being spoken or for some reason may not fit into the topics of conversations around me. My joy is another spot of pride. No pun intended here, but the happiness and peace I experience is a result of the relationships I share with Jesus, my husband, my family, and my friends. Lots of work, prayer, and tears have been invested in my joy-spot.

One realization that I have come to as I type my thoughts is that for this hobby, talent, memory to be a true “spot of pride”, it has to be maintained by someone else. Someone else, not just me, must contribute to its upkeep. If we don’t experience these moments and activities with others, there’s no real happiness, no satisfaction that life has been worth the experience. I invite you to contribute to someone’s spot of pride. You’ll be pleased to see how our spots intermingle and bring happiness to even the occasional passer-by.

Farewell, My Purring Dove

"My beloved Zion has departed and now there is an emptiness in my heart." No, this is not a verse from the book of Lamentations or Jeremiah. This is really what's going on in my life today. Zion was my sweet, sleek kitty until yesterday, when I relinquished parental rights to his original daddy. Ours was a tumultuous relationship, but it grew into sheer love and respect for each other all the way until our last day together. Zion is a loner, a hunter, with a mean glare and a thuggish swagger. He could subdue even the most alley-ist of cats to a pitiful whimper. He has a large, aggressive head, a furrow of eyebrows that stare and induce fear in all. But then one nuzzle with that sweet pink nose, and the heart would melt with love. All barriers were broken when the purring started. "Prrrrnn, Prrrrn". I called him my dove. He truly sounds like a dove when he purrs. The house feels so empty without him here. He loved to sit in the shower with me, basking in the cloud of mist as if in a sauna. He would sleep near my head at times, peacefully curled, zzzz's intermingling with mine.

So farewell, my purring dove. I know you will bring much happiness and warmth to your new family. And you will always have a spot in my heart that is reserved only for my furry loves.

The Saving Grace of a Family Tree

Always fascinated by the stories and characters from the Old Testament, I had a sudden realization the other day, a "ha!" moment, if you will. I was captivated by the story of Ruth, that noble daughter in-law whose devotion, respect and love has been studied and shared, especially among Christian women. Everyone can relate to a facet of Ruth- from foreigners, to widows, to women with strong ties to their families, from the hopeless and the poor, to those at a crossroads and pivotal turning points in their lives. But my fascination wasn't about Ruth's devotion, her acceptance of her mother in-law's religion and God. It was the prelude to her story, the story of Boaz and his own mother that interested me anew.

I had never consciously put the two together. Bo's mom was Rahab, the harlot who hid the Hebrew spies. There's no mention of this in the book of Ruth. Prior to Ruth receiving Yahweh as her God, Rahab had done so. She was another foreigner, an outcast, from a people who had also rejected God and worshipped idols. I can imagine little Bo sitting on Rahab's lap, tenderly twisting a lock of her hair around his chubby fingers, as she told him (again at his request) the adventurous story of how she, along with the rest of the family, had escaped annihilation. The scarlet cord that was hung from the window was now humbly displayed above the door - a sign of deliverance and mercy, a sign of salvation. (This is my own imagination depicting this moment, but it could very well have happened in a similar manner.) She taught her son that though a sinner, an outcast and pariah, she was granted salvation, a gift for which she would be eternally grateful. She recounted how she heard that blast from the ram's horn, signifying a new chapter in her life would begin, and how the walls of the city fell down. But she and her father's household were spared. She taught her young son that it doesn't matter what your past is made of, how many blemishes you have on your record, when God offers salvation, you begin afresh.

And so Bo became Boaz, a responsible adult with a kind heart and a special softness for a young foreign woman in need of redemption. It's no wonder that he fought for Ruth. Well, he didn't really fight, but he did go to the elders at the gate of the city and state Ruth and Naomi's case. In faith, he followed the rules of tradition and offered the inheritance to Naomi's closest kin. Now Boaz took a risk by taking Ruth as his wife. Their first son together would perpetuate Ruth's dead husband's name through his inheritance. But it's Boaz's name that shows up in the lineage of Jesus, not Ruth’s first husband, and thus Boaz's faithfulness was rewarded. Boaz, his mom Rahab, and his wife Ruth - their stories about love, devotion, hope and faith- are eternally engraved in the lineage of Jesus Christ, the one true Redeemer.

I can't help but think that indeed it was a mother's story and love, and her devotion to God that allowed Boaz, without hesitation, to accept God's leading when Ruth came into his life. Before Ruth was born, God was preparing the heart of a man that would accept her for who she was, and redeem Ruth from her sad circumstances. How utterly beautiful! What wonderful hope the lives of these women, and this man that connects them, gives us. What a magnificent and faithful God we serve!

The experiences we encounter as we walk through life, when God is at the forefront of our decisions, have a ripple effect that surpasses flesh and bone. These experiences prepare our hearts for the unthinkable: the beauty of God's will.