Hannah, you’re the queen…

I believe in the power of words, of names.

Lately, in my class, we have been looking into name meanings – What does your name mean, and what does it mean in your life? How is God redeeming you through your calling?

I have been called and given many names in my life, as have you, I’m sure. My family is particularly fond of nicknames, so I have many. Allow me to expand…

Laur, from my brother

Loo-lum-lore-lee-la, peanut – my dad

Lolly, Lollygirl, Lollybird / Little Lollybird, Mosquito, Marie, Lamb Chop –> Chop –> Choop –> Chooper

The names go on and on.

And then there was Hannah.

When I met Brian’s family, I also met a beautiful little one with long, dark “shag dog” hair, as the boys called it – they liked it long and sweeping across her face. She met me and swiftly tried to keep me at the house. We bonded instantly. With her small, warm hand, she took mine and at the age of two, called me Hannah.

Her parents would say, “Say Lauren,” and she would say, “Hannah!” “Say, La-la-la-la-Lauren,” and she would respond, “La-la-la-la-Hannah!”

We could not figure it out. And for about three glorious years, she called me Hannah. It was a sad day when this sweet girl learned my “real” name…

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I’ve been thinking about that name Hannah. I’ve written a tiny bit about it before, of how it means favor and grace, and since I was given it by a member of my husband’s family, I realize what favor and grace I was given by joining their family, by combining our families. Believe me, our marriage has brought blessings to both sides of the aisle.

And yet, I don’t think that’s all of it. That’s not the end of her story, or mine.

If you know more about the story of Hannah, don’t spoil it for me. God is revealing that to me in his timing, how that name fits me and how it seemingly doesn’t. However, God is sovereign, and out of the mouth of babes… God speaks clearly as well.

I am so thankful for what he says about me in His word and in His names for me. I look at my nicknames from family and see favor and grace, love abounding, care and sweetness. I see familiarity and a future.

Today, I was sitting alone in my classroom grading papers. I felt weary, and I said, “God, would you keep speaking to me? Would you show me your grace and help me as I work?” I turned on an internet radio station, and one of the first songs that played was this one, called “Hannah” by Ray Lamontagne. I won’t explain every lyric and how it fits so perfectly with me, this song about falling in love and being captivated by beauty (Thank you God – and Brian – for loving me so well!), but I will give a few sneak peeks…

For example, how I sobbed this morning and “cried so loud” when God comforted me in my quiet time and prayer,

how I would put down my idols and my comforts if He would just be kind to me, and He is,

how I’m celebrating my emptiness as God fills me up,

how I came down from those Ozark Hills where I used to go to Sixth Grade Camp,

and instead,

I am roaming the streets of Westminster, with music and a Bible,

and praising God for his goodness and flourishing,

the right fit for now,

how my name is Lauren, “crowned with the Laurel,”

flowered dresses that I use to clear the way.

God lets me climb big trees as Hannah Lee.

God is so good. So good. Tonight, I am thankful and full.

My cup overflows, again and again and again.

“Come to me, Hannah. Hannah, won’t you come on to me?”

Yes, God, yes, God, yes…

Every day,

I will fall down at your feet,

For oh, God, you are the King of this street.

I lost all of my vanity
When I peered into the pool
I lost all of my innocence
When I fell in love with you

I never knew a man fall so far
Until’ I landed here
Where all of my wounds that turn into gold
When I kissed your hair

Come to me Hannah
Hannah won’t you to come on to me?
And I’ll lay down this bottle of wine
If you’ll just be kind to me

Ask her why she cries so loud?
She will not say a word
Eyes like ice and hands that shake
She takes what she deserves

To celebrate her emptiness
In a cold and lonely room
Sweep the floor with your long flowered dress
If you cannot find a broom

Come to me Hannah
Hannah won’t you come on to me?
And I’ll lay down this bottle of wine
If you’ll just be kind to me

She’s got hair that flows right down
Right down to the backs of her knees
Her papa he was a preachin’ man
And the Lord is hard to please

So she comes down from the Ozark hills
To these very streets to roam
With a banjo and a Bible
And a fine tooth comb

Come to me Hannah
Hannah won’t you come on to me?
And I’ll lay down this bottle of wine
If you’ll just be kind to me

I’d walk one mile on just broken glass
To fall down at your feet
Oh Hannah you’re the queen of the street

I climb the tree with my Hannah Lee
My intentions they were pure
Oh the breeze did whip and I lost my grip
I tumbled towards the earth

Where you never would guess who it was that stood below
His name I would never tell
But his eyes were clear and his arms were strong
And caught me as I fell

Now come to me Hannah
Hannah won’t you come on to me?
And I’ll lay down this bottle of wine
If you’d just be kind to me

I’d walk one mile on just broken glass
To fall down at your feet
Hannah you’re the queen of the street

Read more: Ray LaMontagne – Hannah Lyrics | MetroLyrics

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On Fight and Flight [or Beauty in the Breakdown]

I’ll cut right to the chase. This morning, I burst into tears in my classroom. In front of my kids. At 7:56am. One minute after class started.

Allow me to give some context and explain.  

Last weekend – beautiful, redemptive conversations and hugs, LOVE abounding and refreshing, best friends

Monday – unpreparedness, OVERexposure, emotional wreckage (in private)

Tuesday – good and busy

Wednesday – fine and fun and fast

Thursday – The phrase “The day got away from me” is not accurate enough. The day flew by me and around me. It FLEW, and I was building the plane while flying it. Work from 7am-11:30pm without ceasing.

Friday – Wake up. GO. GO. Go. go. gooo… CRASH. Insert Gina, amazing teacher partner, who gave me a breather and took over my class while I cried in the empty hallway and in her room, and I prayed.

It’s wild to me to think about how we fight and flee. When we do. If we do. It’s also amazing to me to see how God REDEEMS, because boy, does he ever… ALWAYS. Here are five things I noticed after my 3rd hour when I got a breather.

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Fable & Lore necklace, made here in St Louis. The pattern speaks to me – partnership, gold, shining, waves, dips, doves, peace.

Camo “battle” shoes – I seem to always wear these when I have a spiritual battle ahead. I wore them to the store two summers ago when we heard that Grandpa Alex was in the hospital. I wore them to Chick-Fil-A that same week when I mightily ate some chicken and made my father-in-law belly laugh to lift some grief.

“Hunger Games” arrow rings with chain from Standard Style in KC. I feel powerful, alive, and GUIDED when I wear this. I could stab the devil with this and inflict some damage as well.

Ring wrapped in thread from local store in LA. Handmade. It speaks to me of binding, protecting, adorning, and unraveling over time, the need for redemption.

Ebony heart earrings from the annual family Hen Party. I wore my heart on the outside today; edged in gold and passed down to me from family, it was.

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I’m a lover of jewelry. I love to make a statement and decorate myself in things that make me feel bold and strong and unique.

After my 3rd hour when I got a breather and walked down that same empty hallway to get some tea, I saw adornment. I saw adornment and purpose and reasons to praise.

God loves to adorn me as well… and how odd it is (and INCREDIBLE) that it seems subconsciously (or miraculously) God guides me to dress myself in things that give me power and strength on days that I REALLY will need it.

Before first hour, I felt the stress building. I rushed. I tried to help kids who desperately wanted my attention. I did not get my plans cemented. I did not get the objectives or agenda written on the board. I did not play music as they entered like I normally do. I was not relaxed and full of peace, and I know (because God spoke to me yesterday and this morning about it, that peacemakers who sow in peace build fields of righteousness (James 3:18). Yet, I was not full of peace. I was full of exhaustion and anxiety and the need for control, and yet I was spinning out of it. I was full of selfish ambition (James 3). I would strive and strive, do and do, work and work, and I (key word: I) would get it all done and do it all well. Friends who know me, do you see a pattern?! Oh my good GOD, what you must be thinking when you look at me and see me repeating my same sins over and and over again, stubbornly fleeing from you and relying on my own flawed ability to perform. God, what must you think…?

I know what you must think, because when I returned from getting tea, I opened my Bible and flipped to the next passage in James and read this:

James 4: What causes quarrels and what causes fights among you? Is it not this, that your passions are at war within you? You desire and do not have, so you murder. You covet and cannot obtain, so you fight and quarrel. You do not have, because you do not ask. You ask and do not receive, because you ask wrongly, to spend it on your passions. You adulterous people! Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God? Therefore whoever wishes to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God. Or do you suppose it is to no purpose that the Scripture says, “He yearns jealously over the spirit that he has made to dwell in us”? But he gives more grace. Therefore it says, “God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.” Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you. Cleanse your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded. Be wretched and mourn and weep. 10 Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will exalt you.

And l listened to this: “Healing” by Ben and Noelle

And suddenly, it all fell together. I nodded and laughed and smiled and prayed, and then I blogged. Because God knows what he’s doing. Because there’s beauty in the breakdown. Because when I felt the emotion rising, I asked a kid to pray for me, smack-dab at the start of the class, and he did. And when I turned around to turn on the projector RIGHT after that, I was locked out of the system because of the storms and power loss yesterday, and that’s when I lost it. The tears started flowing, and I squeaked out, “It’s been a really hard day already, and someone needs to go get Mrs. Bush.” And they did. And she did what she did, and I did what I did.

And the kids were gracious, and they all said, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Simpson. We’ve all felt that way. And we get it, and you’re not the first teacher who we’ve seen cry.” And class was better.

And 2nd hour, class was better. And by third hour, when the technology was breaking down again, the video projects the kids had prepared were not uploading and were not playing and were not using sound, and the computer kicked me out of Power Point and kids were getting flustered, I stopped class and said, “Listen.”

“Listen, Satan is the worst. And you might think it’s funny, and it kind of is, but there is some REAL, supernatural, technological difficulty going on here. There is some real spiritual battle happening in my heart and in this classroom today, and Satan’s not going to win. God is bigger and stronger and better. Amen?” The kids laughed and clapped, and I said, “Let’s be honest. That might sound weird to you, but there is a reality to the fact that Satan doesn’t want us to flourish. And he’s a butt-hole. I HATE him. Don’t you?!” [insert shocked student laughter] “I absolutely hate him, and I believe that when you call upon the name of the Lord and you tell Satan to flee, he has to. He has to flee, because God is greater, and Satan sucks. Yes?” And they all echoed yes. And we went on with our class, and we played some of the videos and solved some of the technical difficulties, and we ended class in prayer, going on with our day.

Guys, Satan is real. God is REAL. And we have POWER and ACCESS and PEACE in the Holy Spirit. God is willing and able to redeem situations and overcome evil when we ask and even sometimes when we don’t. But He wants us to ask and ask boldly. And he will fight with us as we tell Satan to flee. And he will. And now, here I am, using TECHNOLOGY that has failed me all day to share this message with you. God is a restorer and a redeemer. God is a warrior and a comforter. God is a HEALER.

I am fighting against Satan’s temptation to despair today, and I’m telling Satan to flee. Will you join me in the fight? Will you allow God to speak to you and heal you and do powerful things in your life? Will you allow the Holy Spirit to enter and move in power?

Amen. May it be so.

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From Stodgy to Saved

Recently at work, I was asked, “When did you encounter Jesus?” Along with our theme for this year’s chapel at WCA, I will apparently be one of many teachers and students who will be interviewed on camera in order to play a short clip of our story at chapel for the kids. And if you know me at all, you know I’ve got some reflecting and word-smithing to do on my own before I’m ready to speak in front of a crowd, or in this case on camera (eek!). Attempting to alleviate some awkwardness, I’ll lay my thoughts down here as part one of three. Apologies to friends whom I am about to embarrass.

The first time I recall encountering Jesus was the summer before sixth grade. My incredible friend Caroline (over at In Due Time) invited me to her youth group. I had most likely been complaining to her about my church, which I now realize was fairly spiritually dead. We said words, we sang hymns, and we went through the motions, but there was little to no faith-life there, at least for me. My brother and I had both been falling asleep in church, and our wonderful mother began to fear that we would lose our interest in faith altogether. So, she said hesitantly said yes. I don’t remember much, but I do remember a flurry of activity – the painted walls of KYF, the hum of energy, the uproarious laughs, and the seeming lack of adults. We were in a room filled with kids, and there seemed only to be a few adults in the room, and they weren’t signaling for anyone to sit down or shut up; the adults were mingling with and among the kids, laughing, talking, snacking… What? This was not my definition of youth gatherings at church. Where were the dingy tables, dull lights, worksheets, dusty books, empty hallways? And goodness, the boys in the room were reallllly cute. I liked this place.

IMG_0809 IMG_0826 After an absurd game of lining up and passing bananas over our heads with our feet (our pre-pubescent posteriors arching over our heads), some type of talk began to which I didn’t pay much attention, and then eventually, more talking, laughing, flirting, goofing off… I came home and said that I loved it.

Caroline continued to invite me to church, and as we spent increasing frequency of time together, that relationship and others deepened into great friendships. Erika, Jenny, Raelyn… I was surrounded by beautiful, silly, and yearning souls like mine who were already growing into incredible Godly women. We talked, and laughed, flirted and goofed off, decorated Bible covers, taped in book tabs (probably from Mardel’s), and learned to pray. Still, I came for the fun, the games, the boys. I came for Caroline and Erika and Jenny and Raelyn and Ashley. I came for myself.

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IMG_0824Then, one day, I sat on the KYF carpet in the back of the youth room, cross-legged and eyes wandering, observing and taking in the room, and I heard a woman’s voice grow ever stronger in my ears. Susan Grapegater, who happened to live across the street from Caroline with Mr. Grapengater and their two kids, from whose yard we had retrieved many a poorly aimed soccer ball, in whose house we had youth meals and Superbowls, whose incredibly creepy Halloween haunted house drew in neighbor kid after neighbor kid every year, spoke. She spoke with love and fervor and kindness. I don’t remember the words, but I do remember the feeling. I remember her smile, her knowing glance that seemed to focus on me out of all sixty-some kids in the room. I remember a click, a shift in my heart, an openness, a willingness to lend an ear. I stared at the rough carpet speckled in color, and I felt a nudge, a fearful and wonderful call. She asked us to bow our heads and pray with her. I didn’t know how to respond, but I bowed my head, and I listened. And that evening, after going home in bewilderment, I realized what that call was, and stumbling over the words I had heard again and again and again at KYF that summer, I bowed my head in my bedroom and I asked the Lord to come into my heart and save me. And he did. I encountered Jesus. And when I opened my eyes, it seemed as if everything and nothing had changed all at the same time. I resolved to tell Caroline, but beyond that, I looked around my room at my walls and the life that had been built around me and felt a sense of awe and uncertainty. I realized suddenly that someone else was in control, a partnership of sorts. It was God and me now… and I thought, “What now?”

God is Gracious

I met a man named John about ten days ago at Lowe’s. My school day had been one of ups and downs, mentally. I had self-metered my brain’s state of clarity at a 75% in the morning, a 50% in the middle of the day, and by the end, I had reached what I thought was 90%. So, I thought, “‘You know what? I’m going to run some errands! I’m feeling pretty good…”

…and about 45 minutes later, I was still wandering around in the same sections of Lowe’s trying to make just three simple decisions. I stood, staring at the trellises (for supporting winding sweet potato vines), and I just kept pacing back and forth, back and forth, looking, puzzling, fighting for my thoughts to be clear, pacing, checking my list again… and I shook my head at myself as my thoughts were interrupted by a man next to me, muttering to himself as he looked for just the right trellis, too.

“I know how you feel!” I found myself saying.

I chuckled and looked his way. “I do that all of the time…”

“Yeah…” he said, “I just need to find a good trellis for my wife. She described it to me, but I’m not sure if I’m getting the right one…”

And the conversation began.

I found out that John, a 5’10″ish black man with graying stubble on his chin, wearing cargo khaki shorts and a grey T-shirt that hugged his somewhat round belly, was a gardening helper. His wife was the gardener, and he was learning from her, giving her all of the credit for a green thumb, and he was just trying to do something to help her out. He laughed as he explained that gardening was relaxing for them. It got them out of their normal routine and “crabbing at each other.” They felt good there, together, in the garden, and though he mentioned multiple times that she was the one who really knew what she was doing, this man John knew quite a lot.

So, we wandered through the section again, back and forth, like ebbing tides, going in and out of this Lowe’s aisle, passing each other and turning to chat every few minutes again, and he began to inquire about my garden. What did I need the trellis for? What else did I grow? How about tomatoes? (Their tomatoes were doing REALLY well! Hence the need for more trellises to support their growing stalks and fruit.)

And that’s where he came of great assistance.

See, my tomato plants have been struggling… and it’s odd, because last year, at least with my Sun Gold tomatoes, I felt like I couldn’t pick them fast enough. The plant grew, the tomatoes burst at the seams, fell ripe on the ground, spoiled on the ground sometimes, twisted vine-y stems over and around and under and through the fenced areas, and I had to hold the thing back; it was that prosperous! We had Sun Golds for days… months… in plenty.

But, this summer, though I thought I really prepared them well, they’ve been struggling. I put them in pots for more protection, I watered them every morning, I had tomato cages in their soil ready to go before they even got big (which they never really did), I put spikes of organic vegetable fertilizer in them, I….

“You what?”

John interrupted me.

“Oh, no, you can’t do that,” he said. “That’s too much for them, in those pots. The fertilizer just sits in there, releasing continuously, and it’s too much. You probably over-watered them too. Were the leaves yellow?” (Yeah… I’d figured that out halfway through the summer and started changing my watering methods.)

“Well, here’s the thing,” he said. “You want to drop in fertilizer as needed. It’s best to just add it little by little. Those fertilizer spikes that just stay in the soil are too powerful. It’s like they make the plant work too hard for too long, and it can’t just do its normal thing.”

I sat, amazed, at this man who said he didn’t know much about gardening.

“You also want to put the pots on soil. Mine are in pots too, but I set the pots on top of the dirt so they’re close to the ground. I don’t know what it is, but they perform better that way. The like to be close to real earth.”

“Okay, so not planted in the ground, but potted and just set on the ground?” (I’m always looking for things to be re-explained to me in different ways.)

“Yeah, actually on the ground in the pots. They just like to be close to the source, you know? They need that. And then they do really well. And, I water mine every day. Every day they can’t get enough water and sun, and they do great. I mean, look, I’m here buying trellises because they’re getting so big! […] I mean, I just learn all this from the gardener herself, right? She teaches me! But, it works every year.”

I stood, puzzled. It’s that easy? That’s all I had to do? Put the pots on the soil… Geez, I’m thankful for the advice, but I was feeling a little dense! 🙂

So, John and I finished our conversations as I had savored those moments of seemingly clear communication, and he called his wife for clarification on that trellis, and then I wandered down the aisles again, unable to make my choices. Finally, I checked out, having passed John again in the aisles once or twice, and then I went to my car and ran into John one more time in the parking lot. We shook hands, and I very genuinely told him that it was a pleasure to meet him and that I hoped to see him again around the area.

And, I drove home, only to realize in despair once I had unpacked and started to look around for my other items, that I had left two things at the checkout line. It took me a few minutes, and as ridiculous as it sounds, I called Brian to see if he’d pick them up. I was overwhelmed. Despite my life-giving chat with John, all the sudden things felt so heavy. I couldn’t believe that I’d exhausted myself all day at school only to do what should have been a 15 minute errand that turned into an hour and a half after which I left items at the store. Was $10 really that important? We decided yes, and I mustered up the feigned energy to go back, grab the items from the checkout girl who had them ready and waiting, and drove back home.  The funny thing was that that errand and its success made me feel like a prize-fighting champion. I did one thing with focus and success that day, it seemed. One thing.

It wasn’t until the next day that my mind started to clear even further, and I realized a few things. And then I realized a few things a few days later. The clarity kept coming.

1) I was still dealing with the symptoms of whatever was happening in my brain. Utter exhaustion + pushing myself to work more + lack of nutrients/water (?) + spiritually battling + trying to do everything and care for everyone = a foggy, indecisive, crippled brain. That topsy-turvy day was absolutely a day in the midst of the most difficult two weeks mentally that I’ve ever had. Though I thought that I had weathered the storm and it was all sunny from there, I had jumped the gun. I wasn’t healed yet.

2) I finally sort of understood what women had described to me before: being so exhausted or consumed with anxiety or even depression that it was a success just to be able to make their kids’ lunches in the morning before school. Life felt that hard that even doing one small thing, like getting their leftover items from the Lowe’s checkout, felt like something to praise God over.

3) John’s name means “God is gracious.” And John, though black, reminded me a lot in stature and demeanor, of my father, whose name is also John.

So, I’ve been taking John’s advice, because God is gracious, indeed. I quickly put my pots on soil that day, and I’ve been watering them every morning. They’re not flourishing yet, but they’re getting stronger and greener each day, and the tomatoes are ripening more quickly than they have been this past summer.

And, I’ve been watering myself each morning, close to the source. I’ve been getting up early to read my Bible and pray, to walk around the grassy yard a little with my dog, Brooklyn, to sit and stare up into the sky, close my eyes, breathe in, breathe out, and prepare myself for the oncoming day.

I’m not flourishing yet, but I’m getting stronger and clearer each day. My legs are able to carry me farther. My mind is able to accomplish more, more efficiently. My days are long and feel like big mountains ahead of me sometimes, but I’m being carried through them. Over them.

And I’m wondering where the rest will be. That’s something I keep asking God. Where will the rest be? Is this just a season, or this what I should get used to? Is this what you’re training me to endure? Am I to find you every morning in quiet moments, and then the rest of my day is going to be like an arduous leg of a marathon, every day, over and over? When will I feel that soul-quenching, body-relaxing, full washing-over-me REST that I so long for? When, God?

And he’s not answering me, yet.

But, I’m staying close to the source… and oh my, my dear friends and family… God is gracious. So, incredibly gracious. Each morning. Each day. Each hour. He is gracious. I’m living in that grace, today and every day, and I’m looking for the glimpse over these mountains.

I’m not healed fully yet, but I’m really looking forward to that day. And I hope that I can meet John again one day, Lord willing, and tell him what his tomato advice meant to me. I wonder if he has any idea…