Being Lori

prose and poetry about life and living

Month: April 2018

May I Have This Dance

lorivisser@sbcglobal.net

No oil to heal, no suture to bind

No bandage to seal, no surgeon I find

No clinic to enter, no place to escape

No medical center, no refuge seems safe

Empty and sad, no smile on my face

But deep from within, His voice whispers “Grace”

 

Remember, dear loved one, I hear His voice say

In my love you’ll make it, so trust me today

The storm you now walk in, is not a mistake

It’s from my own hand and it’s all for my sake

It’s my invitation to dance with your King

For you are my bride. You wear my ring

 

I see where you’re wounded; I know you’re in pain

You don’t understand this is all for your gain

To you it is dark, no clearing in sight

But it’s our true love story illumined in light

I’m truly your hero and so very near

My right hand is on you, there’s no need to fear

 

I’m your mightiest refuge; I’m all that you need

The only true healing for which you now plead

I seal, bind, and heal; I’m your place of retreat

Bring all of your sorrow and all your defeat

We’ll sit here together, just you and I

I’ll bring my face close and for a while we’ll cry

 

In these times of sorrow with our faces so near

You take in my breath, and your mind starts to clear

My truth brings you comfort, as lies are replaced

Hope is renewed, doom is erased

Though still you may sorrow, you’ll find a deep peace

I’m giving it to you. It’s for you to keep

 

In our times together, when it’s just us two

I’ll tell you secrets and what you should do

Your deepest desire you don’t really know

It’s hidden within you, but I see it glow

I see what is hidden beginning to shine

Your deepest desire. You want to be mine!

 

And if you could see how my heart beats inside

How I dance as I look at my beautiful bride

You’d reach out your hand and place it in mine

We’d waltz ‘round together, forgetting the time

For you’ve found your home and I have your heart

So, may I have this dance? It’s a good time to start”.

Choreography of Praise

lorivisser@sbcglobal.net

Trees sway their barky limbs

In wispy wind leaves twirl

Clear twinkling flowing stream

Moving in slow curves past

Sticks and stones and braided roots

Bright yellow buttercups bouncing

In watery ripples

Stony weedy watery bed

Reflecting sunny rays in a

Choreography of praise.

 

My Altar

lorivisser@sbcglobal.net

While standing at my altar, I was thinking how easy it is to forget…

I have stewed over the fact that my life and body have been sacrificed too many times, even for good things. For instance, I literally gave up space inside my body three times to allow three other little bodies to grow there. Welcomed, but still, a sacrifice.

On the “not so good” side, I had to sacrifice my breast to conquer cancer.

I sacrificed my thyroid to conquer the ravages of Graves’ disease.

I sacrificed ease of life and often my own sense of mental well being to comfort or help others in need.

I have sacrificed my own ideas and plans about how my life should be.

I have stood before this great altar many times, watching it smoldering; so much going up in smoke.

It is always sobering standing there.

Often I stand amazed as I realize how Jesus has brought me through it all. I am reminded God has a good plan for me, and that it all has a purpose. I wish I could say that is how I feel every single time, but that wouldn’t be true at all. Often I go there just to tell Jesus how sad or disappointed I am. It’s okay. He can take it. He always listens to my rants.

But sometimes I foolishly walk away from those rants without letting His love wash over me, refreshing and reminding me of His goodness. It’s a stupid way to walk away from the altar. It leads to nothing more than the same sense of sadness and disappointment with which I came there.

Today I wasn’t stupid. I decided to stay there and let Him wash me. I asked Him if all the sacrifice would be worth it. The Holy Spirit spoke into my own spirit, letting me know that it most assuredly would be. Then He quietly but clearly reminded me of Jesus’ sacrifice. 

I pictured Him leaving glory. He sacrificed the perfection of heaven, and for nine months took up space inside of a young girl. A young girl, by the way, who said, “yes” to God, having no idea what her sacrifice would mean for herself, and an entire world.

Spring forward to Jesus’ misunderstood ministry. Even though it took the resurrection for them to completely understand, the disciples said yes. They gave up the plan for their lives and followed Jesus… even to death. Was their sacrifice worth it? Of course it was.

And as I stood at my great big smoldering altar, I remembered.

Jesus gave up everything for me. Everything. He gave up glory; ease; riches; his body; his life. He sacrificed it all for me. For you. For everyone. He said, “yes,” and didn’t look back…

…even when He was sweating out blood.

When He was being beaten.

When He was feeling alone.

When He was being pierced.

When He was naked and dying on a shameful cross.

And you know what? It was worth it.

And so I stand now, before my puny looking altar, which just a few moments ago looked so large and smokey, and in it I see the Refiners fire. As the smoke wafts its way up, I see it like incense filled with smells that bring joy to my Savior, Healer, Redeemer and Friend, and I feel washed.

And it’s all worth it.

On Being Shiny

lorivisser@sbcglobal.net

Two years ago I was diagnosed with Grave’s thyroid disease. There are many symptoms that go along with this disease, but the one I want to tell you about today is hair loss. I estimate that in about two years I lost almost half the thickness of my hair. It may sound silly, but it is common for women who loose hair to feel devastated, and I was no exception.

In order to give my hair as much help as possible, it was suggested to me by my hairstylist, to take a break from any harsh chemicals, including the coloring of my roots about every 8 to ten weeks. Really?? I have colored my hair for years! L’Oreal ash blonde 100% gray coverage. What would I do without my “blonde in a box?” Still, I wanted to save my hair, so I surrendered.

To assuage my fear I reminded myself that over the last few years the gray in my hair had became more resistant to the color anyway. I had started noticing that just a week or two after coloring, my gray hair (which seemed more and more to be taking up space on my head) would be happily shimmering through in the sunlight! Grrr.  When I stopped coloring I didn’t really know what to expect, but It has been a little under a year now that I haven’t used any color. Little did I know how much gray hair I actually had!

Last March, after trying anti-thyroid meds to control my hyper hormones without success, I decided to have my thyroid removed. Then around May I had another big “shed” because of the abrupt change in my thyroid hormones. I was loosing so much hair that I was a little freaked out I would literally go bald! However in the Fall, (no pun intended) my hair loss tapered off, and now I am seeing lots of hair coming back in. I notice them because they stick straight up out of my head! And…they are gray.

I have decided to run with it for a while to see what I think, so I am a “blonde” transitioning to gray. Right now my hair is about half and half, and you can see a pretty definite line of delineation. I have no doubt loved NOT having the hassle of coloring, but still I have gone back and forth about giving up that box of L’Oreal for good. Here’s why. In our culture, youth is supreme. It is worshiped. Aging is for the old, and none of us want to be old! Myself included! It is a terrible lie that we have embraced. Not only is it a terrible lie, it’s completely vain. Psalms says that gray hair is a crowning glory, or a crown of splendor! What in the world! We are so far away from that idea!

I have often been lovingly corrected by my daughter when talking negatively about myself, especially when my grand daughter is within earshot. She doesn’t like it, and doesn’t want her own daughter to pick up a habit of bad self talk and thinking. I don’t want her to either, so something has to give, and it has to start in my own mind first. My thinking needs to be aligned with God’s ideas; with what he thinks about me. And guess what, he knows exactly how many gray hairs I have, how old I am, and that everyday I am growing just a little bit older. He knows you are, too. The twenty somethings, all the way up to the 100 somethings. All of us.

So what if we have this all wrong? What if this aging thing is something we are supposed to be celebrating? And I am wondering; can this change of thinking start in this aging baby boomer.

Now don’t get me wrong. If you want to color your hair until they put you in your casket, I will not judge you! I promise! Who knows, I may use some color again myself! However, I’m determined it won’t be to give myself a false sense of youth.

My diagnosis of Grave’s has changed my life and my physical appearance. With it came the realization of just how much pressure our culture places on women to be “perfect” and eternally young. It is exhausting to try and turn back a clock that will not run backwards. It’s a silly waste of energy, and ladies and gentleman, I am tired.

It will be a hard habit to break, but from this day forward I am going to try and make a habit of seeing myself as Jesus sees me. I am going to blow dry my half blond half gray hair into the nicest style I can, and put my makeup on over my ever increasing wrinkles. I am going to walk down the stairs and let the gray headed love of my life whistle at me and tell me I look cute…without cringing. I am going to be vibrant and useful, and I am going to memorize the following verse.

Psalm 71:18 “So even to old age and gray hairs, O God, do not forsake me, until I proclaim your might to another generation, your power to all those to come.”

And then I am going to practice living it out before my daughter and grand daughter. And lastly and most importantly, no matter what I think the mirror is shouting at me, I will listen and believe the voice of my heavenly Father who tells me I am his beautiful, silver, shiny girl.

Scrumbly Dancers All

lorivisser@sbcglobal.net

Several years back I had the privilege of teaching worship dance to some little girls at our Church’s Worship Arts Camp. Every week the girls were excited as I gave each one a simple long white satin skirt to wear for practice. Paired with whatever tee-shirt they had worn that day, once the girls donned their skirts, it was a sight to see! Not one of them could sit or stand still. The entire room was filled with happy, twirling dancers.

Nothing could compare, however, to the times when they got to wear (imagine angelic music here) ~The Big White Performance Dresses~. They were always so excited to wear these very special dresses, and you could see by their faces and behavior that they felt beautiful when they had them on. It didn’t matter if their ponytails were cockeyed, or if there was left over peanut butter and jelly on their cheek. As far as they were concerned, they were true, beautiful, ballerinas.

With that in mind, and before teaching any of the choreography, I first set aside part of class to talk about worship and how we can use dance toward that end. Because worship dance involves beauty, I talked about God being the author of beauty. It was my goal to encourage them to be beautiful… for Jesus. Beautiful not just on the outside but more importantly on the inside; the part that thinks and speaks and acts.

If you could be in the room with these little “saints”, you would see why it’s important to emphasize inner beauty. Those long, flowing white dance skirts and dresses can be very, very distracting. It is easy to get caught up in the “twirliness” of it all. Especially in a room filled with mirrors! And yet it was amazing to see their reactions when I began to talk about being beautiful for Jesus. Somehow, it settled and focused them.  I could tell they were thinking.

For eight Sundays we practiced choreography to Fernando Ortega’s, The Creation Song, and I had the girls use beautiful flowing fabric pieces to represent different parts of creation. A glittering iridescent fabric was used to represent light. Silky red fabric was used to represent the sun, and a shiny golden piece for the moon. Brown satin was used for the mountains, and green chiffon for the valleys. A light blue sheer organza represented the wind. To illustrate water, a shimmery blue fabric with pale white streaks and delicate silvery jewels was used. Two of the girls swirled teal and purple peacock feathers to represent “the birds of the air”. But most important was when the song spoke of God’s glory. During that portion, one of the girls was to run gracefully across the floor from one side of the stage to the other, and back again. As she ran, she would be holding a beautiful long piece of billowing purple taffeta high above her head. It was going to be glorious!

Something differently beautiful and glorious happened on the last week though, that I won’t ever forget.

The last week of Arts Camp was when we were to show the other Worship Arts classes, parents, and friends, what we have been learning over the eight week period. The girls were very excited, and so was I! They had accomplished so much, and I was proud of them. As the girls gathered on the stage, I began passing out the “big white performance dresses” and sent them, along with my fearless helpers, to the dressing room to change. After they left the room I began to ready up a few things and that’s when I noticed a little girl sitting off to the side of the stage. The girl was a neighbor to one of the families who attend our church, so she had come with the children of the family. I observed her for a moment as she sat on the edge of the stage, and with her feet hanging over and her Her arms crossed tightly in front of her, I could see that she had been crying.

My very first thought when I saw the situation was…Oh boy, I don’t have time for this. I remembered how she had behaved all evening. She was uncooperative and angry; she complained about everything; and she wouldn’t let anyone touch her. I felt certain her home life was less than desirable. On top of that, her appearance was what we call at our house, “scrumbly”. Honestly, I was annoyed with the problem of “the little girl”. But something happened as I began to walk across the stage toward her. I sensed the Holy Spirit urging me to care about her. To love her.

Not feeling happy with the Holy Spirit’s timing, I let out a long, slow breath, but then made my choice. I walked over and crouched next to the unhappy visitor and, since all the girls were out of the room, asked if she was feeling lonely. She immediately scooted away from me and gruffly said through angry tears,  “I just want to be in the dance.”  Instantly I thought – she can’t. We’ve practiced for seven weeks, and she doesn’t know any of the choreography. Then I remembered…

…The dancer who was to run across the stage with the purple cloth representing God’s glory, was out of town, and I needed to choose another girl. I knew this scrumbly, stringy haired little girl could take her place and run with the purple fabric.
The Holy Spirit spoke. “Ask her.”
But Lord, it’s the most important part!
“Ask her.”

So I told the little scrumbly visitor that I had an extra white dance dress, and asked if she would like to be in the dance. She frowned, but nodded her head yes. I gently touched her arm to direct her toward the dresses and she bristled under my touch and moved away again. Now stepping back, I coaxed her to come with me and she willingly, yet somehow also defiantly, followed me across the stage. At that point the rest of the dancers were making their way back in, so one of my helpers took the tear-smudged little girl to change, as the rest of us started dress rehearsal.

Shortly, the scrumbly, angry little dancer came back to join us, all dressed in white. I explained to her what she was to do.
“Sit on the floor here, and when I tell you to run, stand up, hold the purple cloth way up high above your head, and run like the wind from this side to that side, and then come back.”
During my instruction, she didn’t make eye contact with me even once. I had no confidence that she would even follow through.

Next, I asked her if she would like me to put her hair in a bun like the other dancers. I thought she would certainly say yes, but she didn’t. She crossly said, “No. I don’t like that. I think it hurts.” I asked her if she would like to take off her tennis shoes and have bare feet like the other girls. “No,” she snapped. “I don’t want to.”

I will be honest – that little “dancer” did not look beautiful to me at that moment.

But God has a way of helping us to see through His eyes.

As the music started I saw beautiful little girls doing just as they were taught. All the lovely fabrics were flowing across the stage, as they danced beautifully for Jesus; each one to the best of her ability. Then came the chorus. The music swelled as the main theme of the song began filling the auditorium…

“…Singing, Glo-ry! Glo-ry! Glo-ry to our God!
All praises and honor!
Forever!
Amen!”

And there, with all she could muster, an angry, scrumbly little girl with stringy hair jogged awkwardly across the stage, dirty tennis shoes clomping, purple cloth flapping limply behind, not high above her head, but from the back of her neck like a not-so-super, superhero.

A scrumbly little girl ~ clothed in a beautiful white dress.

And I imagined the Trinity dancing with joy at the sight of every single one of the beautiful dancers; especially the beautiful, scrumbly, purple cloaked, superhero dancer.

And as I choked back my tears I thought about the redeemed of God, and how that all of us are like the little scrumbly dancer.

Scrumbly, all ~ Clothed in white.

And in his great and wonderful love, He dances over us with singing.

Glory to God in the Highest.

Zephaniah 3:17
The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you.
He will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.