MrsHilaman’s Weblog

I have always been an active person.  I haven’t always liked going to the gym, though.  I’ve been going now for 5 or 6 or 7 years, and only in the last 2 or 3 have I really decided I like it, and miss it when I can’t get there.  When I go, I start out with a cardio workout, usually on the treadmill.  At my gym there is a long line of treadmills that face the equipment floor.  Some of the treadmills are in front of t.v.s and some are not.  I choose to go down to the very end where there are no t.v.s and very few people.  I like the 25 minutes of solitude and personal space.  With my job I have someone in my personal space all day long, and there is conversation all day long, and sometimes I just need some nothingness.  So I get in my own little world on the end treadmill and run a while.

After I get my second wind, about a half-mile in, I relax and get into a stride and begin to let my mind wander, and I also people-watch.  There are those that pump iron to put on a show, those that think they’re pushing oh-so-much weight when they really could be doing more, those that look too pretty so sweat, those that stand around and talk……Anyway, what has caught my attention lately are the ones on the treadmills.

There are those that walk slowly and seem to never get anywhere.  Those that run like their life depends on it. (I wonder what they’re running from, but that’s a whole ‘nother blog).  There are those that obviously run for distance, and those that hold on. 

There are these two middle to older aged ladies that are in the gym very frequently that walk on the treadmill.  They actually set the incline fairly high so that they’re walking uphill.  But then they don’t let go!  Don’t they know it’s not going to do them as much good if they don’t let go?!?!?!? As I was watching in frustration a couple of weeks ago, I felt the Holy Spirit speak to me and say “that’s what it’s like when you don’t let go and give things to me.”  You get some benefit, you get some reward, you make some progress, but you never reach full potential.

And, why???? Because it can be more painful in the beginning to let go.  But can’t we see, the end result will be so much better and we’ll be so much farther ahead if we’ll just let go?  Let go of ourselves, let go of our control, work those muscles.  Just like walking uphill on the treadmill, without holding on, works our body harder, not holding on to the hurts, anger, control, etc., in our life makes us stronger Christians.  Better able to ‘train’ the other muscles, members, of the body of Christ.  We can only make progress up to a certain point if we are still holding on. 

I’m not one for christian cliche’s, but the one that says “Let go and let God” is very fitting here.  You gotta let go of that treadmill handle to be stronger.  You gotta let go of your issues and give them to God to build your spiritual muscle.  It’s not always easy work, but it’s worth it in the end.

Can you remember back when you were a kid?  I think I have a pretty bad memory, but there are scenesfrom my formative years that really stand out.  There are also concepts, not occurences, that I know shaped the way I think, what I do, and what I think about myself.

One of the most obvious things about me has always been my hair.  If you know me, if you’ve ever seen me, you know I have a substantial amount of ‘fun’ on top of my head.  When I was a little girl people would often comment about it.  My mother was never quite sure what to do with it.  You could give a weather report by it.

My sister, on the other hand, had long, straight, thick blonde hair.  She could do anything with it and it was always what I aspired to.  Our personalities are almost as opposite as our hair, but she’s always been my closest ally.  She would brush her hair, I would watch and try to duplicate.  Then I’d cry and throw the brush.  I went through countless hairstyles and formulas trying to become straight-haired like her.  None of them worked.  I felt like I never was as pretty, put-together, or stylish.  This so totally shaped what I thought of myself.  There was always this curly cloud looming over my self confidence.  Peoples comments were often far cries from compliments.  They were just comments.  But it began the shaping of my curly identity.

Then the 80’s came along.  Big hair. Big, Curly, wild hair.  Finally.  I happened upon this crazy, barefoot, bare-chested hairstylist who transformed my mess into style.  He showed me what to do with the beast, and led me into the world of ‘hair product’.  People noticed that, too, and commented.  Once again my identity was wrapped up in my hair.  People described me as the ‘curly headed girl’, and I described myself the same.  The hair caught peoples attention, and it became ‘who’ I was and ‘what’ I was.  Hair.

Now, how ironic that my gifting in life is ‘doing hair’.  But I had a lesson to learn.

About five years ago, after a not-fun time in my life, I took a good long inventory of self.  I realized that I had wrapped so much of my identity up in my hair, that my hair was who, and what, I was.  Sounds kinda ridiculous to hear myself say that now, but it’s true.  How could something so non important as hair take over so much of what I think of myself and where I placed my identity?  But it did.  I was the one with the hair.  Plain and simple.  It was me, I was it, my hair was Who I was.

So after that inventory, I decided I needed to realize where my identity really needed to be, where identity comes from and how to get there.  I had been taught it all my life but never put it into practice.  My identity comes from Christ.

But things had gotten in the way of that realization and practical application.  Hair.  How ridiculous.

So, I chopped it all off.  I mean ALL OFF.  It was about an inch long all over my head.  I got rid of what was standing in the way of realizing that Christ, not my hair, gives me my identity. 

It was fun and painful all at the same time.  Liberating and anxiety laden all at once.  Vulnerability.  Openness.  Nakedness.  That one action thrust me into a whole new realm.  People still commented.  Some were fantastic complements and some were hurtful comments.  But it didn’t matter.  I didn’t need hair on my head, or peoples acceptance of it, to make me confident in who I was.  I was released from the burden of incorrect identity.

Now that I’ve learned that little lesson, I have been able to find a better balance of style versus identity.  I can be stylish, and enjoy complements, (when It’s not raining!) but not need any of that to know that God loves me just the way I am and that’s all that matters.  I belong to Christ, not to a fashion statement.

Now my hair is a Part of who I am, not the definition of who I am.  It’s a fun part of me and I like it.  I embrace my curls and love teaching others to embrace theirs.  I am now able to use the knowledge and experience to help my clients and friends understand that our outward appearance is a wonderful part of what God gave us to make us unique and special, but it’s not where our identity is or comes from.

I am ‘fearfully and wonderfully made’ – curls and all.

A little over ten years ago I was very pregnant.  It was a rough pregnancy, to say the least, but joyous none-the-less.  I had internal fits of wondering what the heck I had done, followed by fits of the “can’t waits” until he got here.  I am sure it was all hormones, but I was a little afraid I wouldn’t know what to do with a baby.  After all, any baby I had every held had burst into tears!

I knew after such a problematic 8 months that if I could just hear my baby cry when he was born that everything would be alright.  I delivered only 3 weeks early and immediately he began to wail and scream.  It was music to my ears.  It was also like an internal switch had been turned on and I knew exactly what this little person needed.  I didn’t have a clue what anyone else needed, but his needs were  seemingly born into my being at that very moment.  I knew his looks, his sounds, his needs.

The nurses would take him to the nursery to do whatever it is they do to babies and then bring him back to me.  There was an almost constant parade of crying babies up and down the hallway.  But, remarkably enough, none of those sounds got my attention.  Until my baby came down the hallway.  After only hearing him cry once when he was born, I was able to distinguish my baby’s cry from all the others hours later.  I knew his hungry cry, his mad cry, his ‘I’m cold’ cry and believe it or not, his fake cry.  (He had one and used it often!) There was something in my being that identified with him from the minute he was born.  I knew he was mine and I knew his voice.  As he has grown, even still, we can be in a crowd, on a loud playground, anywhere, and when my child calls me, I know it is him.  Other children can cry out “mom”, and I don’t even flinch.  Other children can cry, and while I am concerned, I do not rush. 

In the Book of John, after the Resurrection of Jesus, Mary was at the tomb and was crying because she thought somone had taken her Lord away.  She even spoke to the angels about the matter.  Then Jesus walked up  behind her and she turned to see him.  She did not realize it was him.  He asked her why she was crying and she told him, all the while thinking he was the gardner!  Then something amazing happened.  He said her name.

She immediately knew who he was and cried out to him.  She recognized in her being that her name was being spoken by the one who loved her most.  She was fulfilled and at once whole again. She heard her name spoken by her Lord.

Do you hear your name spoken by your Lord?  Do you have such a connection in your being with him that when he breathes your name you hear it and redspond?  It doesn’t matter if/when he says someone else’s name.  It matters when he says yours.  When you were born into Him, your soul immediately was able to recognize his voice, and He, yours.  Are you hearing it?  Are you too busy?  Has it been drowned out?

We sing a song at church that says “I know who I am, I am yours, and You are mine, Jesus”  Take some time to listen for Him to breathe your name.  He does it often.  And he smiles when he says it………..

Call me crazy, but I kinda like algebra.  Solving for ‘x’ isn’t the worst thing in the world to do.  a+b=c gives us a great formula to make all things logical.  I like logic, I just wish I had more of it! But, I digress.  So, here’s an example of a+b=c.  Hope you like it……

a

In John 6:32 says “Jesus said to them, “I tell you the truth, it is not Moses who has given you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven.  For the bread of God is he who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.  “Sir,” they said, “from now on give us this bread.”  Then Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life.  He who comes to me will never go hungry and he who believes in me will never be thirsty.”

+b

Luke 11:3 says “Give us each day our daily bread.”

=c

If jesus is our bread of life and we are praying give us this day our daily bread, then aren’t we praying “give us this day what we need of Jesus”?

I’ve always looked at that passage in the Lord’s Prayer as ‘give me today what I need in the physical realm. Food, money, clothing, etc.’   But what if we’re really praying that we have exactly the pieces of Jesus that we need that day to fulfill His call on our life.  It totally changes the perspective on that prayer.

Algebra; it’s a good thing.

“Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.” Ephesians 6:24

So, what exactly does it mean ‘to stand’?  While I am sure there are probably multiple answers to that question, I’d like to offer one example.

When I dream I have the uncanny ability to be between conscious and sub-conscious; knowing within my dream that I am dreaming, yet not being able to wake myself up.   It’s difficult to explain, but my mind consciously knows that it is in it’s sub-conscious.  Sounds pretty messed up, and in real-life-time it’s pretty frustrating.

For years I had a recurring dream.  Each time the scene was different, but the theme was the same.  They were tornado dreams.  The dreams would seem to come randomly, and not terribly often, thank goodness.  But when I did have one it was unnerving.  This went on for years, but the frequency increased after I had my son.  Usually after the tornado had devastated everything in my dream world, I could not find my child.  Sometimes someone would even come and tell me he was dead.  Time would seem to drag like winter molasses and my body was heavy and fluid and had no muscle.  I would cry and wail and find it nearly impossible to breathe.  My conscious mind knew it was only a dream, but as hard as I tried I could not snatch myself from it.  I would wake up tired and sad and afraid.

The dreams seemed to intensify.  In full color the world around me would spin in a screaming ferver.  Homes were ripped apart, trees uprooted and people displaced.  Always afterward there was that calm.  The eerie calm that makes you think there is still more to come.

As time passed it really bothered me that I was having these dreams.  I wanted to know why, and how to stop them.  They were so random that I could never pinpoint a thought from the day that made me dream this way at night.  I couldn’t grasp why my mind was so afraid.

Then one night it happened.  The tornado was so real.  I was in my front yard and it came from the east end of the street.  It was tremendous and violent and wanted to destroy me.  I fell to my knees.  Then face down in the grass.  I dug my fingernails so far down into the lush green grass that the dirt was packed under my nails.  I held on for what seemed an eternity.  Eyes forced shut, dirt and debris whipping through the air, the sounds, the smells, the feel.  The gutteral sounds too raw to repeat.  I dug harder into the ground with my nails and forced my feet to stay to the earth.  I could feel the ripping fingers of wind on my back and racing through my hair. The tornado passed over me and was suddenly gone. 

I slowly opened my eyes.  Unclenched my hands and feet from the gound; they were stiff from such intense clenching.  I can still remember what the dirt under my nails smelled like.  I had grass in my mouth, dirt on my face, my clothes were a filthy mess.  But I was alive and my life was intact.  There was no damage.  No destruction. No death.

You see, I did not have to defeat the tornado.  I just had to not let the tornado defeat me. 

I believe when God tells us to “stand” he wants to do the defeating for us.  We just have to stand our ground and not let what is coming at us defeat us.  I didn’t have to fight the tornado,  I just had to not let it take me.  By not fighting, but standing my ground, I won.  It won’t always be easy.  It took every ounce of muscle, will and courage I had to hold onto my ground and not let the tornado take me.  I was exhausted and looked bedraggled, but it was worth every bit of fight I had in me.  So often that’s how the situations in our lives leave us.  But if we stand our ground, no matter how tattered we are when it’s over, we still win!

p.s. I haven’t had a tornado dream since.

Have you ever wondered what your destiny is?  Sure you have, we all have.  Have you ever wondered how to get there?  Of course.  Here’s the answer:  You Run.

Acts 8:26-40 says “Now an angel of the Lord said to Philip, ‘Go south to the road – the desert road – that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza.’  So he started out, and on his way he met an Ethiopian eunuch, an important official in charge of all the treasury of Candace, queen of the Ethiopians.  This man had gone to Jerusalem to worship, and on his way home was sitting in his chariot reading the book of Isaiah the prophet.  The Spirit told Philip,”Go to that chariot and stay near it.”

Then Philip RAN UP TO THE CHARIOT and heard the man reading Isaiah the prophet.  “Do you understand what you are reading?” Philip asked.

“How can I,” he said, “unless someone explains it to me?”  So he invited Philip to come up and sit with him.  …….Then Philip began with that very passage of Scripture and told him the good news about Jesus.

We know our purpose on earth is to share the Gospel of the God News of Jesus Christ.  Everything we do in a day should revolve around that action.  How do we get there?  WE RUN.  Philip obeyed the Lord and took the desert road.  In doing so he was divinely set up to be in the right place at the right time so that he could share the Gospel.  When he knew he was in the right place and the Spirit spoke to him, do you see what he did???  He RAN to his destiny that day.  He RAN to that chariot and was given favor.

How many times do we run to our destiny?  If you’re like me you probably feel too tired to run to your bed, much less to your destiny.  But God wants us to run to our assignment.  He will supernaturally place you where He wants you when you’re running toward Him.  Run into what he has for you each day.  Run with anticipation.  Run with a purpose.   Run to your destiny.

So, as the young people in my life continue to press me into this mellinium, I find myself discovering new things every day.  Mostly things in the techno-realm.  Things I know I could live just fine without, after all, I’ve done it successfully for almost 40 years.  But, here I am, figuing out what a blog is and where to put it.  I’m going to try this and see what happens.  I may lose interest, and I highly doubt anyone is going to read anything I have to put on paper, but I’m going to try it anyway.  We’ll see what happens…….