Letting go of perfection

Letting go of perfection

     Photos lay on the table, stacked in piles, waiting to be put into an album.  Summer is ending and the photos remind me of the good times we experienced with family and friends.  Smiling faces gaze back at me against beautiful backdrops of mountain vistas and ocean beaches.  Life looks perfect in that split second of time and happiness seems to be a reality.

     Viewing life from a camera lens gives a false sense of what’s real. Memories, like photographs, tend only capture the perfect moments that are inevitably surrounded by harsh reality. In striving for this picturesque moment, we ask for excellence in everyone around us, especially ourselves. But surely the most memorable photographs are those never taken; since spontaneous, and often hilarious, sometimes tragic, moments are never captured on film. Our memories must be more inclusive than our photo albums, lest we miss out on the imperfections. And try as we might to forget, imperfections are not just a part of life; they are life.

     When life’s storms hit, we batten down the hatches.  We are in the moment of dealing with tragedy and forget to demand picture-perfect.  When the intensity lifts, we strive for the sunshine again.  We miss the point. There will always be some sort of drizzle that distracts from the overall perfection of the moment.  Running through a light rain, the water droplets touch my skin.  I began to feel my senses coming alive.  The smell of the damp earth, the sound of the droplets on the leaves by the side of the path, the salty taste of my perspiration on my lips and the view of the marsh through the graying light are vivid to me now.  Emotions are like my skin.  Running away from undesired feelings, I can avoid going out in the rain, but then I will overlook the rainbow.  I will miss being fully present.  

     Staring at the photo of my children and me in Clearwater, Florida, I close my eyes and picture the moments leading up to that shot.  I remember our laughter and an occasional harsh word between siblings.  I remember the imperfection of the experience.  Reminding myself that I am not a perfect mother, sister, daughter, neighbor or Christian, I embrace the flaws that make me who I am; the part of me that is willing to take chances, to change, to be creative, vulnerable, willing to make mistakes as I grow and evolve. These deficiencies also bring me to my knees before the grace of God.

    God doesn’t require perfection, but in our mad rush to please Him, we think that we have to be flawless to come before Him.  Jesus did that for us.  His blood cleansed us.  When approaching God, I imagine what it is like to have my own child snuggle up beside me.  Not asking for me to fix a problem in their life, but just to be with me and gather strength from our relationship so they can deal with the situation through new eyes.  I envision how pleasing this is to my Father; the fact that I want to stand in His presence for the pure joy of being with Him.  He loves all of me, even my faults.  I want to look through His rose colored glasses that sees me, His beautiful, imperfect, cherished, and beloved daughter.  

     I am letting go of my expectation for perfection.  Instead, I am choosing to walk in the rain.

Taking the Pulse of the Red Cross

          When thinking of the Red Cross, what image comes to your mind?  Many of us have a Red Cross story or have heard an account from a loved one.  We hear stories from the Indian Ocean Tsunami of 2004 to Louisiana’s Hurricane Katrina, from the collapse of the Twin Towers to tornado disasters in the Midwest.  Story after story emerges from these tragedies where all seems lost and then the Red Cross arrives on the scene and hope is restored.  In moments of despair, volunteers appear responding to immediate disaster caused needs.  None of us want to be in a situation where we need the Red Cross, but we are not exempt from tragedy.  Knowing that help is close by can make the most traumatic experiences survivable.

     According to the Red Cross’s Fundamental Principles, “ the Red Cross, born of a desire to bring assistance without discrimination to the wounded on the battlefield, endeavors—in its international and national capacity—to prevent and alleviate human suffering wherever it may be found. Its purpose is to protect life and health and to ensure respect for the human being. It promotes mutual understanding, friendship, cooperation and lasting peace amongst all peoples.”  It is an organization that is truly colorblind.  The Red Cross does not receive funding from any government entity and it is represented in every country in 

the world.

    Not long ago, a tragic fire broke out in an apartment building in Goose Creek, SC.  Lives were taken.  Some of the residents lost everything they owned in the fire.  One of these women spoke at a Red Cross fundraiser.  She described the immense fear that ran through her as she relived those first moments with smoke billowing from the building and not knowing where her kids were.  This description of her and her children’s terror and confusion that led up to their ultimate escape, brought tears to the eyes of her listeners.   When her husband could see that recounting her story became too vivid and terrifying for her, he held her in his arms, renewing her strength to continue.  Periodically she paused to regain composure, each time apologizing for her emotional state.  Though she had practiced her speech without a tear, these memories now overwhelmed her.  Her despair was palpable as she spoke though she barely noticed the emotions of all those in attendance as she transported them to that terrible day.

     In expressing the rush of feelings that she felt when she first saw a Red Cross-volunteer, the audience’s continence changed with her.  As she continued, relief was evident on her face that was now filled with hope.  She told how the presence of the volunteers was the salve she needed to heal and regroup. All present realized that her story could easily be ours.  No one knows when tragedy may come.  Our local Red Cross has helped 1,222 of our neighbors in a 7 county radius since July 1^st, 2011.  Keeping the Red Cross prepared for catastrophes with donations and volunteering is one way we can help it stay strong and ready for the unexpected.

     Recently, the Trident United Way has changed their priorities and consequently, the Red Cross lost valuable funding. This article is not meant to discuss the reasons behind this decision.  Instead, let us realize that in times of financial unease, where differences separate us more than our similarities bring us together, the Red Cross stands as a beacon of what we should all strive to be.  Its volunteers personify a humanity that crosses barriers and promotes true understanding.   Since the founding of the American Red Cross in 1881 by Clara Barton, hundreds of thousands of volunteers have impacted people in crisis.  Each of these volunteers has contributed to the success of this worthy organization.  Let’s continue the tradition by supporting our local Red Cross.  www.LowcountryRedCross.org or 843-764-2323

My Rocky Mountain High

     Snowflakes slowly fall from the sky. An accumulation has not yet begun, only a dusting of these flakes covers the scenery. It is late September and hiking alone at 10,000 feet in Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado is exhilarating. There are other hikers walking this trail if trouble finds me so I relax in the solitude. The higher I hike, the more spectacular the view. The peaks in the distance rise dramatically as they point upward. A mountain lake nestles in an alpine meadow. Trees are changing into scraggly bushes as I approach the tree line elevation. The cold air enters my lungs as I greedily suck in more oxygen. The moderate breeze adds to the crisp fall weather and the sound it makes going through the trees is music to my ears. Layering my clothes allows me to stay warm in spite of the outside temperatures. The aspen leaves are letting go for the next season. Summer is gone, fall surrounds me and I am finally at peace.

      Peace, that elusive feeling that comes and goes at will. How can I attain a lasting peace? Paul states in Philippians 4:7- “And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus”.

      Because I feel deeply that I am where I am suppose to be, I have peace no matter how upsetting the situation looks, I can rest knowing that life is going to play out in my favor. The end result may not be my first choice, but it will be God’s best choice for me. God says “I have plans for you, plans to prosper you”. He is faithful and trustworthy. Putting my trust in Him is crucial to experiencing the peace that passes all understanding. Thanking God for all circumstances, even the painful ones which are really blessings in disguise, allows Him to work miracles in my life. Gratitude opens me up to infinite possibilities. I am able to see the good in my life and embrace all that comes.                                

     Because of my history with God, I know that He can take charge of any situation and solve it to enhance his plan for me. He has to do the work, I can’t force it, but I do have to be a willing participant.

     Peace can only exist where there is an absence of worry and anxiety. Worry comes from the old English word meaning strangle. I can only experience true peace when I pass my worries over to the One who offers to take them from me. I am tempted to find that comfort in another human, but I know I will always be disappointed in the end. Only God can be that for me. When I accept whatever God puts in my path as necessary to my growth, I can feel peace. A calm serenity fills me and it is not lost when my outer world is strife-ridden. I don’t have to work hard to get what I need. The opposite is true. When I relax in the knowledge that God is going to bring what is necessary, life is no longer a struggle. ‘All in good time’ becomes reality and I can rest assured that God has my back, my best and my future. Everything feels right with my soul.

     When I cast my burdens on Him, my soul finds itself at one with its Creator. Deep inside me, I have a connection with God that becomes clogged. When the communion is blocked, I feel hollow. I often find myself feeding that emptiness with lots of activities and material goods that temporarily keep my mind busy, but it is fleeting. Only when I get myself right with God will the channel open and His peace will flow. His peace is like the bottom of the ocean where the storms of the surface have no impact. When I rise above the tempests of life through faith and trust, I can look upon the valley below, smiling, knowing God is with me. This serenity has to reside inside me for it won’t last if it is based on my environment. I encourage you to turn towards the One who can give you everlasting peace. It will make all the difference in your life and you will feel His presence no matter where you are. Shalom!


Author's note- pictures taken in a different time and place, but I wanted to show you the majesty of the Rocky Mountains!

Radio Interview with WTRU out of Virginia

Dear friends,
I was interviewed last week by a radio station out of Virginia- WTRU.  Robby Dilmore, the radio host asked me about my experiences with Water Missions. On the next screen, push the diamond on the player to 13:07 to hear my portion of the program.  I am excited that I didn't embarrass myself too much, being my first radio interview.  I am thrilled that WMI's message is getting out to listeners in Virginia, upstate North Carolina and South Carolina.  Thanks for your support! julie

Siloam home

Water Missions International restores hope in Haiti

     People living in third world countries struggle daily for drinkable water.  Most settle for unsafe water, which causes many illnesses, including cholera.  These diseases can cause death if untreated.  Water Missions International, or WMI, our homegrown nonprofit that we Charlestonians love to support, works hard to bring safe water to these people.  They are notified when there is a crisis.  Responding quickly, WMI often sets up a temporary situation first and then comes back later with a permanent solution that will last for years.

     In April 2012, during my latest medical mission trip to Haiti, I was invited to spend two days with WMI based in Port au Prince.  I was thrilled to be given this opportunity to visit two villages helped by this amazing organization.

     High in the mountains overlooking Port au Prince, villagers from Cabouel came from surrounding hills to collect clean water.  I viewed first hand how the money we raised, through walkathons and school/church fundraisers transforms lives. This exposure made me realize how we take for granted basic necessities and how fortunate we are to turn on a faucet and be given safe water.

     A multitude of people waited as two pipes delivered clean water that flowed into their five-gallon buckets. The buckets weighed forty pounds each when full.  The volume of water has dramatically increased as the solar-powered pump brings water to the surface.  The treatment system filters the unsafe water and produces enough to sustain a village of three thousand people indefinitely. 

     Since January 2012, a temporary wooden structure had encased the newly placed water treatment system.  Three weeks ago, WMI converted the building to a concrete enclosure.  A large concrete platform surrounds the pipes to provide an area free of mud.  Solar panels power the water pump during the day.  A generator helps on cloudy days or when the sun has gone down. The valuable solar panels, attached to the new tin roof of the pump house, are protected by barbwire to prevent theft. When possible, solar panels are mounted on church roofs.  In Haiti, thieves do not steal from churches.

     Six months ago, this well was contaminated and people were becoming ill.  They walked hours to other wells in hopes of escaping illness.  The villagers asked for help and WMI converted this contaminated well to clean, potable water.  At the present time, this new facility brings people together with their clusters of white buckets waiting, laughing, telling stories, catching up on news and jostling for their turn at the pipe.

     Some locals load their donkeys with their buckets.  One girl slapped her donkey with a stick and the donkey slowly walked down the road by itself, knowing its way home.  Animals are kept at a safe distance to decrease infection.  Education has made all the difference.  Now the people understand how to keep the water sanitary, and illness has been radically decreased. 

    Young boys encircled me, wanting to communicate.  We stumbled through a conversation using my broken French and hand signals.  The girls, more serious, were anxious to deliver water back home quickly.  They were curious about me, but also suspicious. Some let me take pictures, while others declined when I asked.

     As in many other cultures, these women carry water on top of their heads for long distances. I attempted to accomplish what they do naturally.  I could not even hold it steady on my head while standing still.  When I placed the water bucket on my head, the girls giggled, pointing to my stomach; my core muscles did not seem strong enough despite my athletic frame.  I could clearly see that I would need multiple lessons before I could master even a few steps. Before I took one step, the bucket teetered and my new friend took back her valuable water. At that moment, I became the source of amusement as women laughed at my gracelessness.   

    Another village, Seguin, in the plains area of Haiti experienced an epidemic outbreak of cholera in November 2011.  Cholera, an infection of the small intestine caused by eating or drinking contaminated food or water causes severe dehydration.  Children are always the most vulnerable to this potentially fatal disease.  WMI was notified and within four days of hearing about this dire situation, WMI had a system temporarily in place.  Prior to this installation, these Haitians drank the same water in which they washed clothes, bathed and swam.  The new treatment system took the contaminated chocolate milk-colored water and transformed it into clear and drinkable water. 

     Some of the men from this village actively helped WMI build a permanent structure to house the treatment system.  As people gathered around to watch the construction, all of us felt excitement and a sense of community.

    In visiting these two villages, each in different areas of Haiti, I witnessed a traditional phenomenon; local people socializing around their well.  I have always respected and supported Water Missions International’s work worldwide.  Their mission, to transform lives through sustainable safe water solutions, is evident in the field.  I feel optimistic when I see the impact that Charleston’s money has made in the lives of people in crisis.  One of life’s most essential needs is given to people, who desperately thirst for healthy water, one village at a time.

     Check out Water Missions on their website http://www.watermissions.org for ways in which you can participate, from volunteering to organizing fundraisers to writing a personal check.  Join me.  Together, we can make a difference.

Extra photos:

pipes filling buckets with safe water

Donkey knows his way home

water treatment system

Cadiz, despite language barriers, offers window to faith

     On a bright December morning, I wander the narrow streets of Cadiz, Spain.  The weather is cool with a hint of warmth as the sun rises above the horizon. Church bells ring in unison as believers are called to worship. The locals, who call themselves Gaditanas, emerge from their homes.  I crisscross around the squares and pass dramatic cathedrals.  I continue to walk these cobblestone streets lined with three story buildings.  Small iron balconies frame every window in an array of color and design. The buildings near by appear in the windowpanes as beautiful reflections.  I pause in front of a smaller church, Iglesia del Carmen, located across the street from the promenade that runs along the fortified sea wall.  The door beckons me and I enter into the twilight.  

      Cadiz is rumored to be the oldest continuously inhabited European city. The Phoenicians established this settlement as an important seaport 3500 years ago.  The old city has played a unique role in the history of humankind as a crossroads to the old and new worlds. Like Charleston, Cadiz is a peninsula.   Continuing from ancient times, the harbor welcomes ships from all over the world.  In the 17^th and 18^th centuries, many towers were built atop the buildings as beacons to sailors and remains one of the town’s sources of pride.  These towers endure today as a testament to the affluence and distinction of this exceptional town.

     I am pulled towards this smaller cousin of the cathedrals.  The smell of incense fills the air and organ music swirls upward as I stand in the doorway.  A service is beginning.  I quickly find a seat in one of the pews.  Because this space is considerably smaller than most cathedrals, there is a sense of intimacy.  My gaze is drawn to the beautiful wooden wall covered in gold leaf behind the altar.  The intricate detail leaves me with a new appreciation for the craftsmen who created this masterpiece.  Mary, the mother of Jesus is featured in the middle where she looks lovingly out into the congregation.

     The priest welcomes us in Spanish.  I say us because at that moment, I am part of this community of worshippers.  Each of us is drawn here to this place in this time.  I am struck by the powerful connection I feel to a group of people I do not know.  For an hour and a half, we share a common love of God and it is evident as they praise Him in their language.  I sit quietly and consider a marvelous truth; I can be anywhere in the world and feel at home in one of my Father’s many houses of worship.  I can walk into any Christian Church or Cathedral and experience the presence of God if I am open to His voice.  No matter where I find myself, I can share my faith with strangers despite a difference in language and culture.  Before God, we are equally loved.  No one is greater than the other.  As we come together, a leveling field is created.  Social status, economic differences and our occupations are set aside as we focus on a common denominator.  In this moment, we are truly human as we unite with our creator.  Again, I ponder this truth and am humbled by the revelation.    

     I sit for a while, thinking and feeling.  In any Christian church in the world, I react exactly the same way. The thoughts that come to the surface of my consciousness are of a place of rest, peace, sanctuary, and home.  I sense God’s presence here as I can in Chartres, Cadiz and Charleston.  I don’t need to search the world for Him, but I know that when I explore the world, I can find Him in every church I enter.  In foreign places, this belief comforts me and gives me hope for the future of our world.  We have a common thread that connects us with love. 

Spiritual Patience in God's Time

It is Monday morning. I am sitting in front of my computer with an empty page staring back at me. My column is due Thursday and no inspiration has come for it’s topic. In the past, a memory touches me and I put it into words. This time, I have been waiting and waiting. Nothing. I take a break and go for a run. As I run down a marsh trail, admiring the beauty of God’s world, I realize that the topic needs to be on Waiting.

We are not taught to wait so I don’t wait well. The world tells me to know what I want and to go after it. I am weak if I sit still and wait. God tells me differently. The Bible shows example after example, the value of waiting. Abraham and Sarah wait decades for Isaac to be born. In the Psalms, David beseeches God to show Himself. When God is quiet, David reviews the times God revealed Himself in the past. This helps David put his trust in God again. Because of David’s trust, God works in his life according to His schedule.

God’s timing is impeccable if we have the patience to wait. To wait means to “do nothing expecting something to happen.” You ask, “What does this have to do with travel and feeling God’s presence?” I have found that this trust has to come first, before I can truly feel God’s company.

I want to share with you a couple examples of my waiting. From the moment in which I conceived the concept for Sacred Ground, I wanted to write about Ephesus, Turkey. In some ways, I felt this story should be my first column. I sat down to write it in September 2011 and God stayed my hand. “Write about Chartres,” he said quietly. His words didn’t make sense, but I followed them anyway. Every month after that, I asked, “Now, Father.” “Not, yet,” was the reply.

I was in Spain the week before Christmas and my column was due in a couple weeks. I like to have it written at least a week before my deadline so I can sit with it for a while. A topic was needed and I prayed for God to guide me. That morning, I heard the sad news of Barbara Stevenson’s death. As I thought through her impact on my life, I felt God say, “Now is the time to write about Ephesus and incorporate Barbara’s influence.” With His blessing, I included Barbara.

Now for the rest of the story: since the printing of my column, I have received many emails commenting on Barbara’s life. Most were from people who knew her. Unbeknownst to me, the column was read at her memorial. The people, who most loved her, felt that my comments, coming from a person who barely knew her, spoke of her essence. One of her grandsons who lives in the Charleston area, saw my column first and later thanked me for my remarks.

If I had written my essay in September, I would not have included Barbara. In waiting for God’s direction and timing, I impacted far more people with a testimony of someone who lived the life we are called to live.

My last column, describing my mission trips to Haiti is another example of God’s timing. I felt inspired to write about these experiences last month not knowing that St. Michael’s Episcopal Church was hosting GIC- Global Impact Celebration where 22 missionaries from all over the world gathered to speak along with Chaplain Barry Black of the US Senate and Rev. Dr. Ravi Zacharias. The kick off occurred four days after my column ran. I attended the Ladies Luncheon where we heard first hand what it is like to live as a missionary. God’s Spirit was present for the weeklong event where connections and reconnections were made. Financial contributions for mission work exceeded expectations and we were all reminded of our obligation to help others in need.

Filing each of these accounts in my mind where all the other Proof of Waiting stories exist, I, like King David, will be able to draw on these testimonies when I face another waiting scenario. My hope is that waiting will become easier, but I am not sure. After all, I am only human.

Rewards from Haitian Missions

The small aircraft circles overhead once to persuade animals to move away from the runway; a narrow strip of gravel running adjacent to the beach. An elderly man appears below wearing a bright orange vest and waving two flags in the air. We circle back around as our landing gear positions into place. The cloudless blue sky meets the crystal clear azure ocean of the Caribbean in an array of colors. A variety of greens and browns cover the distant mountains of the mainland. As I look out the window, Paradise pops into my head. We touch down in an exact location to give us the maximum space to land. A short distance away, a waist high stonewall crosses the strip in a t-shape. The breaks are applied as we hold our breath and the bumpy landing ends. The warmth of the sun envelops us as we step off the plane glad to be on ground again. With enthusiastic hugs, our aging host welcomes us to La Gonave, Haiti.

We unload our belongings and medical supplies quickly into an old garbage truck, which has been converted to a supply vehicle. Many people begin to appear to help, welcome and stare. Their smiles light up their beautiful faces.

Our two-day trip to this island off the coast of Port of Prince is more than half way over. Driving into the mountains to reach Lotore before nightfall is the last leg of our journey.

When compared with these islanders, our group from All Saint’s Anglican church, Pawley’s Island, South Carolina lives a very different lifestyle. In this moment though, it doesn’t matter. All of us are humans who bleed, experience pain, love our families, help people in need, and experience joy. We live life to the best of our abilities. There are more similarities that bring us together than differences that separate us. We come here to help our brothers and sisters in need and realize that we will actually receive more than we give.

Riding in an ambulance along the rutted dirt road, we bump constantly into each other. Trash is strewn along the road, where it sadly contrasts with the natural beauty. We take pictures to show our loved ones at home the state of the roads, but no photo can portray the damage caused by the rainstorms. Our drivers’ reflexes work overtime as they navigate around the multitude of ruts. One of our vehicles has a flat tire and we walk the rest of the way. Because this happens often, we learn to go with the flow. In this region, there is an abundance of red clay. By the time we arrive, we are covered from head to toe. The challenge is removing this clay during a sponge bath since there is no running water, electricity or wells nearby.

Our medical clinic opens for 3 ½ days as we see people from near and far. It is common for someone to walk hours to see us. We work diligently as we don’t want to turn anyone away. The local mission school gives up their classrooms for our clinic. The school children come the first day in their clean uniforms. We wonder in amazement how these mothers keep their children clean when they live in cinder block homes with dirt floors, no windows or doors and surrounded by the red clay.

The children sit quietly with their parents as they wait their turn to see our pediatrician. Long lines also form to see our adult doctors, vet and dentist. A group of teenage boys play soccer in the courtyard with a tennis ball. According to the world’s standards, these kids are disadvantaged though no one has told them. Laughter rises as they experience the joy of playing outside with their friends. Fifteen boys are satisfied with one tennis ball. I speculate on who is truly deprived; these boys or our children back home.

On Sunday, along with the locals, we attend St. Barnabus Mission Church, where it is evident that their trust in God is strong and deep due to their struggles. In Haitian Creole, their voices lift up praises in a beauty few witness.

The history of La Gonave is a sad one. At one time, the island was covered with lush forests. The poorest people from mainland Haiti were shipped over to live on this island in the harbor of Port au Prince. Through the years, the government has stripped the island of its natural resources. Erosion from clear-cutting the forests makes growing crops a difficult task and the ocean has been overfished. These destitute people are growing poorer in an already improvised country.

Our group gives medical care interlaced with hope for a better future. I have been fortunate to go with this remarkable group three times. Each visit brings new lessons and I welcome the time spent with these amazing Haitian people who continually show perseverance, courage, and gratefulness. In this, they have become my teachers.

I encourage each of you to reach out to whatever mission God puts in your path, be it local or international. You won’t regret it. The rewards are everlasting.