Stupid Coriander

By: Payton M. Ishmael

It’s unfortunate that some of the articles I feel most compelled to write evolve into confessions exposing the very cries of my heart. A little bit personal, but I suppose things like this must often be shared. Let me preface by informing you that, on occasion, I wake up and choose to be defeated by a negative thought process before I even get to the sink to brush away my morning breath. Today, is one of those mornings…

As I moped and mopped through the kitchen with a silent river of tears streaming down my cheeks, I couldn’t help but envy the happy families I’m surrounded by in east Texas. You often hear the description that Edgewood and surrounding small towns are ‘great place to raise a family.’ I hesitantly agree. I see it every day though. As my new students showed up to my classroom Thursday evening for ‘Meet the Teacher’ night, mom on one side, dad on the other, I longed for that same family bond. With age 27 staring me right square in the face, I sadly wonder if my time will ever come to fall in love with Prince Charming, raise a sassy, over-educated little girl and OU’s next star quarterback. Okay, that might be stretching it, but you get the idea.

With floors mopped and smelling cleanly of Pine-Sol, my OCD caught a glimpse of my dust-coated spice rack. I use it as a decoration more than anything, because it is visually appealing to me. I began scrubbing the shiny, silver and quickly noticed that the glass containers of the actual spice were quite dingy as well. By this time, my pity party is in full force. My vision is most blurred due to the glassy tears that cloud my view. I began wiping down one of the jars and thought to myself, “Wow! So this little spherical piece of nothing is all the faith I need…”
The 17th chapter of Matthew, verse 20 is a promise, “"Because you have so little faith. I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you."

I stood there staring at the jar full of these tiny, little balls and was amazed by the visible representation of this verse. All I need is a single one of these… and then I flipped the jar over to read the lid, “CORIANDER.”

Ahh man! I thought I was having one of those revelations, where God sends you comfort and peace in the most unexpected ways. The tears came on full force. Now I’m single, childless, and ignorant. Stupid coriander. I don’t even know what coriander is, but I do know it’s different than mustard seed. Poor, pitiful me.

I poured a cup of coffee and sulked into my kitchen chair. I stared at all the spices across the room and dreaded completing the task of cleaning them after such a daunting discovery. It was the second to the last jar that I hastily wiped down and placed in its proper spot on the rack, “MUSTARD SEED.”

As it turns out, mustard seed is even smaller than coriander. In fact, I could rewrite the verse, “With faith smaller than a stupid ball of coriander…” Or perhaps, “With faith only a fraction of the size of coriander…”

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen one of these seeds, but I can’t express to you their microscopic size; Teensy tiny little morsels of almost-nothing. The answer to my heart’s desire is shoved inside a seed smaller than the punctuation at the end of this sentence. That’s all I need. I threw the entire jar in my purse so that every time I’m plagued with thoughts of loneliness or life knocks me down, I’ll remember that I need faith even smaller than coriander, and that I serve God far greater than my circumstances.

It Came Upon Me Wave on Wave

By: Payton M. Ishmael

Oh how salt water burns my eyes. I absolutely adore jumping over and through the sun-kissed waves, but as soon as the salty liquid seeps into my eyes, ouch ouch ouch. The sting is pertinent enough to discourage me from ever opening my eyes again for fear that the pain will worsen. I then float blindly, as wave after wave continues to crash upon me, causing an even greater discomfort to my already-closed eyes.

It’s memories like this week, though, that make the burn seem very well worth it; Spending time with amazing ladies to celebrate the pursuit of happiness of our dear friend, Brandy. Laughing at foreign styles, smiling beneath the sunshine, and giggling with an over-abundance of contentment is a most-desirable place to be.

Well worth the sting of the salty ocean too was the time I spent in Miami a couple years ago with my grandparents. Anna laughed as Poppy and immersed ourselves into every single white cap that rolled its way to the sandy shore.

The same is true of life; sometimes with happiness comes a little bit of sting. Just recently I tried to have the best of both worlds. I tried to enjoy the ‘ocean’ while still keeping my ‘eyes closed.’ Metaphorically speaking, I knew that if I opened my eyes, the burn was sure to come. Although I’d most certainly be able to fully enjoy the salty kisses of the crystal clear waters, I’d have to endure the almost-unbearable burn that accompanied.

Lesson learned, that’s an easy way to drown.

In the future, I realize the importance of walking boldly, with no hesitation, accepting the sting of doing what is right and honest. It may hurt a little bit, but it far outweighs the tragedy of drowning lifelessly in a sea of bad decisions.

The Sands of Time

By: Payton M. Ishmael

My first Mexico morning, I laced up my worn out tennis shoes and took off running into the breath-taking Cancun sunrise. It didn’t take long for my mind to quicken to the sand beneath my feet. Those teensy tiny grains of white powder made my jog at least twice as difficult. I had no complaints, though. I traded my iPod and earphones for the beautiful music of ocean waves crashing. The sand instantly found rest inside my socks. My solution was simply to kick them off and keep running, barefoot. What an incredible workout!

It seems I’ve been spent a lot of time with dirt lately. Just last Sunday, I participated in the Down & Dirty Mud Run; an army-style obstacle course complete with swimming, climbing, and crawling through mud. Although it was a unique experience and I’m glad I participated, I was less than thrilled to douse myself in mud.

Oh how things change! The story is often told of my childhood about a commute home to Canton from Athens on Sunday afternoon. We had just left church and I was safely buckled into my car seat with my young parents. It didn’t take long that I was crying to ride with Anna and Poppy in the car just ahead. Being my parent’s first child, and my grandparent’s first granddaughter, it was very seldom that I didn’t instantly get my way. That being said, my parents pulled the car over and consequently my grandparents did too. After a quick exchange, I was safely nestled between Anna and Poppy so that I could happily enjoy my car ride home. Well, so we thought. Only a few miles down the road, I was crying once again. This time I wanted my mom and dad. I’m uncertain whether they just hadn’t pulled over yet to once again let me switch vehicles, or if they simply weren’t going to let me change again.
I was discouraged, confused, distraught, sad… and an array of other tragic emotions.
“ANNA! Did you see all that dirt?” I exclaimed suddenly.

It took only the big pile of dirt on the side of the road to completely change my way of thinking, dry up my tears, and inspire happiness, smiles, and giggles.
Oddly enough, I was an ultimate tom boy as a kid. Although I enjoyed baby dolls, playing in the dirt was my absolute most favorite. Digging holes, burying silverware, and making mud pies were my idea of a perfect day.

And so maybe the culmination of the recent mud run and my daily beach jogs have taken me back to a place where I have long needed to return. A place where the opinions of people and things around me didn’t matter so much, as the restful peace of enjoying myself and my Creator amidst his creation.

Today, I look fondly at the mud puddles, the sandy beaches, and know that my life-changing pile of dirt must lie just ahead. Maybe it’s time I dig a little deeper.

Learning to Fly

By: Payton M. Ishmael

My beautiful friend Brandy is getting married in Cancun, Mexico in just a few short days. In addition to embracing her short amount of time remaining as a little Miss, I’m privileged enough to escape from Texas, my every day, and myself if you will. Over the course of the next several days, I intend to search my soul, clear my head, and uncloud my piecemeal heart.

Aboard American Airlines flight 1211 is where my journey all began. As a fourth grade teacher, you can imagine my dismay when I was seated with two children; an eighth grader and his little brother, a fourth grader; So much for getting away from my day-to-day. As we flew among the clouds, though, they began to ask questions about the clouds, whether or not we would fly over the ocean, and if it was hard to make a bracelet like the one I was currently completing. I had a renewed sense of purpose and confirmation of calling in my profession. They say curiosity killed the cat. I say it satisfies the hearts of teachers. And so, already, Payton = 1 point.

When braiding string became monotonous and my eyes begin to blur from staring at my Kindle, I took time to simply stare blankly out the window. What a huge, huge world we live in. In the grand scheme of things, I’m just a minute little being roaming around this wild, wild nowhere. If I’m just a microscopic, little dot on the globe, then life’s problems must be even smaller. Living life in east Texas, my disadvantages, heavy burdens, and hurtful questions hang above my head like black thunderclouds. When I’m given the opportunity to soar above the clouds, though, I see how quickly clouds move, and just how very insignificant they are when looked at from a new perspective. Before the plane even landed in Mexico, Payton = 2 points.

In the midst of the NBA Championship series, two points seem hardly enough to boast about. As of late, however, I’ve given up many avenues of my life that I’ve always held near and dear. I’ve truly felt like the underdog with no change to rally. Today, I’ll consider my two points of a victory. Anxiously and excitedly, I move forward in hopeful anticipation as I once again spread my wings. “How do you keep your feet on the ground, when you know that you were born to fly?” – Sara Evans

Lessons of UFC

By: Payton M. Ishmael

With a sour attitude and dreadful mood, I ended up watching some silly fight with a group of friends recently. Some burly men clad in UFC sponsored spandex squirm around trying to kill each other. Going into this situation, I admit I thought the whole UFC trend was a complete joke. After watching, however, I came away from the experience with valuable lessons learned.

Preparation. Expectation. Commitment.

If you’ve ever competed in any type of organized game or sport, you know that success requires adequate preparation. Depending on what’s at stake, athletes prepare months, years, or even lifetimes to reach the ultimate goal of victory.

Expectation is also crucial to winning. You must know what you’re facing, be familiar with your surroundings, and know the rules of the game. The element of expectation can be a tricky one. Although it’s important to approach competition well informed, you must also be prepared for unexpected events to occur. A good person once told me not to worry so much about planning every intricate detail of my life, and instead let life happen.

We can’t forget one of the most important ingredients of success; commitment. A decision has to be made to persevere through all obstacles and challenges and there can be no room left for backing out. Prior to beginning a race, it’s not a question of IF you’ll finish, but when. Commitment means sticking with it, staying in, and not letting go.

Our eternal plans are much the same as preparation for the UFC match; not always easy but well rewarded. We have to prepare; seek salvation, love one another, and love God. We have to expect what’s in store; Heaven vs. Hell. We’re going to conclude our lives in one destination or the other, which do you expect? And, we have to commit to the course; Live out loud leaving out any option to give up.

He never said it would be easy, but He did promise we’d never go alone!

When I Get Tired of Shopping, I Sit Down and Try on Shoes

By: Payton M. Ishmael

It’s no secret that I have a very unhealthy obsession with footwear. I’m no discriminator of style either. Wedges, stilletos, flats, and sandals are made to feel right at home in their very own designated space within my closet. I like to wear boots to the rodeo, heels to dinner, and my worn out tennis shoes to run. They all have a place, a purpose, and have seen different terrains and environments.
Unfortunately, although the distinct personality of each pair is gladly accepted, I’ve noticed lately that all the people in my path are not so warmly greeted. The habits of some of the people I see daily flabbergast me and I wonder what makes them tick or if they’re ticking at all. I get bent all out of shape that a child’s parent can’t find the time to sign and send back a report card, but is quick to write a letter complaining about a daily grade. The patients at the doctor’s office won’t make their children behave, I would be spanking behinds. And why oh why must my students neglect their responsibilities!

And so this week as I complained about these people, my mind kept jumping to their shoes. Even for a very shoe-minded person, I was starting to convince myself I had gone crazy. I don’t mean crazy as in silly, I’m referring to the diagnosis of crazy by a medical doctor. I mean, I don’t know anything about the soles of the people I complain so quickly about…

Then I realized maybe I wasn’t so loony after all. Maybe their soles were brought to my attention so that I would consider their souls. You see, I don’t know where their feet have trod, nor what their hearts have endured. I don’t know what mountains they’ve climbed, not anything about the burdens they must carry. And so, as I continue each step in preferably red patent leather pumps, I will be slow to judge and patient to assume when approaching those in my path. In fact, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to walk a mile in their shoes.

Accessorizing Eternity

Accessorizing an ensemble is like putting the icing on a cake. Imagine putting up your Christmas tree, but not adding any lights or ornaments. Picture a car absent of any of bells or whistles. Ponder a wedding without a single flower to be found. All of these scenarios are quite feasible and probably even happen from time to time for whatever reason. It’s when they are fancily clad, though, that beauty is illuminated.

As you know, in all of the instances above, prior planning is involved. When picking out trimmings for the tree, you may select a theme or simply just a color scheme. When planning the floral arrangements for an event, it’s likely that you select coordinating types and shades. The list goes on. Coming up with a plan and then executing is most often going to yield the most favorable results. Let’s face it. We shouldn’t allow materialistic vanities to become a hindrance in our life, but who doesn’t like to look nice? As far as I’m concerned, the more ruffles something has, the better. Judging by those around me, I’d say “bring on the bling” is an accurate assumption to the tastes of many. With this in mind, allow me to provide some Heavenly fashion advice.Begin storing up treasures of eternal value, Matthew 6:20. There’s not a single piece of Mikimoto or David Yurman that will ascend with us to the pearly gates. Instead, we must begin working now for what we will be able to enjoy later. There are lovely crowns awaiting our arrival. Our life on Earth will determine the embellishments or lack thereof. On the runway of gold, what will your crown display?

Not Even Looking

By: Payton M. Ishmael

For as long as I can remember, my favorite shopping partner has been and will remain to be my Anna. I cringe to think of what my wardrobe might consist of had it not been for her guidance. Granted, there have been a few times we’ve disagreed, primarily when silly trends hit the department stores. For the most part, however, we agree on the same stores, styles, and purchases. Like so many other obsessive shoppers, we seem to face tragedy when we’re looking for something in particular. We can browse every aisle of a dozen boutiques to turn up empty handed and absent of that one particular item for which we’re looking. It’s when we’re not looking for a specific item that the very best ensembles sneak up on us.

I recall the most fruitless search to be the day we set out shopping for clothes to wear for sorority recruitment. We visited our very most favorite retailers, but just couldn’t seem to find the perfect outfits. We exhausted all possible resources to conquer our mission, but all attempts lead to no avail. We employed the assistance of sales associates, browsed from every display to rack, and even made vain attempts at trying on clothes in hopes they looked better on-person than on-hanger. Mission: aborted because we refused to fail.

Then there are the absolutely glorious days when a simple stroll through the mall produces a shopping spree of the most holy kind. My claim hints no exaggeration. These experiences are positively Heavenly. Again, Anna and I made the entrepreneurial decision to aid in boosting the U.S. economy, so we chose the only retail avenue where we could most assuredly do our part; North Park. Our mission was simple; to enjoy the day stress-free with no intended item in mind except for the inevitable daily dose of java. For some reason, there seems always to be a golden light gleaming from within BCBG. This day the aura of the place compelled our visitation. My fitting room was full before I even made it through half of the store. I was enamored by so many dresses that it required decision-making. This was much opposite the afore-mentioned shopping day. Still hanging in my closet today are the black and blue off-the shoulder and the rose, halter neck dresses. The taste of those finds was made oh so sweet because we weren’t even looking for them.

Jobs. Friends. Clothes. Good Deals. Love. Blessings. It seems so many of life’s gifts grace our lives when we’re not looking, searching, or anticipating their arrival. It’s a waste to spend our whole lives searching, when there’s so much living to do. Seeking success, looking for love, and hunting for happiness can become a fatally detrimental lifestyle. There’s no use in squandering time on something we have no control over. Instead, I suggest that we seize the day, take advantage of every opportunity, and capture every monumental moment. As we live this life to the very fullest, we’ll be amazed by all the wonders that show up when we’re not even looking.

Falling Fabulously Apart

By: Payton M. Ishmael

Reorganizing my closets is always a daunting task. There’s no possible way to simply rearrange the contents. On the contrary, my solitary option is to remove everything and put it all back in a neat and orderly fashion. This includes shoes, handbags, clothing and anything else that has found its way inside the albeit ‘black hole’ that stores my attire. Only after the wardrobe is completely disassembled can I properly and efficiently put it back together.

Unfortunately, my lovely tulips operate in this same fashion. Their beauty graced my front flowerbed for a short month’s time. Their presence was breath-taking to say the least. Then, the petals slowly began to dwindle away. Now, only a memory is left of their elegance. They have withdrawn themselves completely so that they can prepare to make their dazzling debut once again next year.

I can think of countless examples of things that must be completely undone in order to be accurately redone. I love when Julia Roberts ties Richard Gere’s tie in Pretty Woman. As a result, I learned how. During the learning process, though, I couldn’t stop half way through to repeat a single step. Instead, I had to straighten the tie out to its original state and complete the process from the beginning again and again and again. I’m a picky perfectionist when it comes to clothing and presentation. Bows have become a sort of nemesis to me; Hair bows, bows on dresses, ribbon on jewelry, shoe strings, and the list goes on. On myself, my students, or complete strangers, bows seem always to need adjusting. I’ve therefore elected myself rescuer of sloppy bows. Again here, there’s no way to readjust. Unfortunately, and often uncomfortably, I have to completely untie to retie.

Having a thorough understanding of this concept, I’m flabbergasted that I ever worried and wondered why my life came completely undone. From an extraordinary fairy-tale where I couldn’t ask for more, to being at my wit’s end in panic and chaos, my primary question was “why?” and my focal plea was “help!” All the pieces I had so neatly planned since childhood were falling apart like holding a puzzle in the air and watching all the little pieces fall to the floor in slow motion. You see, it was a puzzle that I had patiently taken my time on and joyfully watched evolve into a beautiful creation. Like a kid whose sand castle has just been destroyed, I was in the midst of despair.

Most fortunately, luckily, and blessedly now, I can look at my puzzle subjectively, from the point of view of an onlooker. All of these pieces that fell and are falling to the floor are being put in very specific places for purposeful reasons. Although the pieces are still mine, the positioning is much different and much more beautiful than I ever imagined. The Master of the Wind is the now the architect of my life and as I take a step back and look at what He’s doing, I know that all my panic, worry, and sorrow were in vain. “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.” –Romans 8:28 I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason, but I know that good has the potential to come from everything if we allow it. Sometimes, we have to get the whole closet cleaned completely out and wreak havoc on complacency, routine, and organization in order to get things right.

“Sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.” –Marilyn Monroe

Just Around the Corner

By: Payton M. Ishmael

Pitch dark. Creaky doors. Deathly chills. Spooky sounds. Shrieking screams. I’ve been through the mazed hallways of countless haunted houses. I confess, I’m often frightened by the ghouls, ghosts, and goblins that threaten their wicked ways upon all passersby. I learned early on, though, that the scariest part is always the experience of being startled or surprised. You never know what is around the next corner…

My solution to this sneaky realization is always to remind myself that from the front door of this treacherous place, throughout the monster-infested abode, all the way through the back door that concludes my risk for danger, those crazy lunatics can’t hurt, take, or even touch me. I’m protected. Instead, I’m confident that regardless of what kind of ogre tries to throw me off path, eventually the sudden twists and turns will concede and I will at last grasp the safe haven of light through the back door. I’ve blindly conquered the unknown and defeated the terror of mystery. I suppose the same is true of life. While traveling down the path of purpose, there is no way to predict what waits ahead. Instead, we’re left no choice but to keep on keeping on facing all the fast balls, curve balls, or whatever else may come our way. You never know what is around the next corner…

I played tee-ball as a child, but that’s about as far as my baseball expertise extends. Sometimes I want to scream to the world, “I’m not a baseball player. Enough with the curve balls already.” As you know, however, the pitches will continue coming across the plate. And though we’d like to see pitches that we can successfully knock out of the park, there are times when we’re going to be terrified of what’s coming our way. Our best option, swing batter batter batter swing! Don’t sit idly by and watch the less desirable sneak across until you strike out.

There’s hope in knowing that all these crazy situations we face, can change in a split second much to our pleasant surprise. A new job opportunity. A clear bill of health. A financial blessing. Be patient in hope. Sometimes life’s sweetest surprises are disguised as the ugliest curve balls. Step up to the plate. It’s ball time!

Purposeful Pieces

By: Payton M. Ishmael My fourth grade classroom operates much like Wall Street. Each of my twenty-one sweet little angels has a job that they are responsible for completing each day. The first couple days, or perhaps weeks of the school year, we might slip up and forget a task or two in the process of getting acquainted with our daily routine. It doesn’t take long, though, until the hours of 7:30-3:30 function succinctly like New York City’s financial district; days that present new experiences, but individual agendas that rarely stray from day to day.

When everyone is present and participating, the days go smoothly. Since some jobs are pre-requisites for others, the students realize how important their responsibilities are. Without them actively fulfilling their duties, the entire operation of the work environment suffers. The same is true of life. We have not just been given a purpose, no, but were created specifically for a divine plan. I can’t pinpoint anyone’s calling, I continue to struggle in finding my own. I do know, however, that I am not adequate to fulfill your responsibilities, nor you mine. I cannot take the place of the preacher, musicians, or singers. I can barely balance my own checkbook, so I can’t take on the role of the church clerk. I’m not an electrician. I can’t run the sound. I don’t even know how to start a motorcycle. But if one of these people decided not to pursue their purpose, imagine the loss we would be forced to endure.

I know from experience that when 9 and 10-year-olds either elect not to fulfill their duties or simply forget, chaos abounds. Our to-do list doesn’t get finished, organization is compromised, and confusion reins. Individual accountability is required for the efficient functioning of any organization.

Take for example, life as we know it. We each have gifts and callings. If we are not pursuing these, we are depriving not only ourselves, but those around us. There shouldn’t be a conundrum of crediting the wrong person for a job well done, because we should be taking care of our own business. “For the sake, of the call, I am laying down my own. No turning back. We’re looking straight ahead. It’s all for the sake of the call.”

When we deny, avoid, or ignore the divine road map that has been constructed especially for us, we’re dealing a terrible injustice to the operation of life. Don’t call on someone to do a job that’s been given you. You are a crucial piece of this puzzle we call purpose.

Step up. Step out. Move forward. Your purpose is waiting…

Somewhere in the "In-Between"

By: Payton M. Ishmael

I’m not a fortune-teller or gypsy. Although the nomadic lifestyle of a gypsy would suit me well. Move around from place-to-place embracing a variety of cultures, people, and undoubtedly food. I’m an axis to the same-ole, same-ole sort of living. A great deal of my 26 years has been spent packing or unpacking. Although I’m not a huge fan of settling in, it’s the short spans than fall “in between” on which I thrive.

My first vacation without adult supervision was the summer of 2003. Although I was elated about traveling on my own agenda, it was the idea of encountering a whole new world that excited me most. I will never forget how my soul bubbled over with enthusiasm as I boarded the plane. I’ll be honest, I had a rough itinerary in which my friend and I were to follow; England, Germany, Switzerland, France. It was traveling the streets of Berlin, though, that I saw the sign; “BOOK YOUR TRIP TO ROME TODAY!” I don’t take orders very well, but I felt compelled to do exactly what the sign in the travel agency’s window instructed. The next day, I toured the Colosseum, saw an opera, and ate the most delicious pasta that Italy had to offer. The boys we met at the opera were quite pleasing to the eyes. The best part was that they didn’t speak a lick of English. If we wanted to communicate, we used broken Spanish learned in Mrs. Langford’s high school Spanish class. I told my parents about my side-trip only after I returned to America.

The very next summer, I was unescorted to Mexico with a childhood friend. Again here, we pushed the limits of parental instruction by getting off the resort. What’s the use in going to Mexico if you’re going to stay on a resort with people from your own country? We, therefore, went culture seeking. We embraced each moment and practiced not only high school Spanish, but also what we’d learned our first year of college.

Again, a couple years later, I was fortunate enough to study abroad. The trip consisted of England and France. By now, I hope you know that I didn’t stay in England and France. This time, I enjoyed the breath-taking castles, exquisite foliage, and rich history of Scotland. I, of course, embraced the tourist traps, but spent even more time, once again, culture-seeking. To my dismay, they speak English with a tragic accent. When in Rome, do as the Romans. I spoke English with a tragic Scottish accent. I wonder if anyone picked up on the sheer Texas beneath my façade.

I have packed and I unpacked, time and again, on these trips among several others and in addition to quite a few moves as well. It was what took place in between my happenings with suitcase that made my trips special. Just last week, I was beyond blessed to spend time in New York City with my grandparents. Planes, bus transports, and taxi rides really took it out of us, but the ‘in between’ provided the memories, the learning, and the laughter that will ever remain priceless.

The ‘in between’ becomes a prevalent stage in life. From the time we arrived on this curious planet, until the time they put our bodies to rest, is but a breath. Again here, it’s the in between that counts. Embrace opportunities. Laugh out loud. Think the unthinkable.

“If you don’t jump, you’ll never know if you can fly!” – Miranda Lambert

Queen of a Jaded Heart

By: Payton M. Ishmael

Playing cards are tricky. It seems a good hand in one game is a bad hand in another. Hold a card one way, and you have a ‘6’. Flip it over, it’s a ‘9’. The clubs and spades have always looked too much alike to me. I can’t tell the difference. Unfortunately, Vegas finds stark resemblance, especially when I’m sitting around a table. Hold ‘em. Fold ‘em. Deal ‘em. Hit ‘em. Good hands, bad hands… the difference falls in the eye of the beholder.

I wake up one morning blessed beyond measure with an incredible family, a good education, fabulous friends, and a gracious God. Life gave me lemons, and I particularly placed them in a darling silver serving bowl for my springtime center piece among my exquisite kitchen table, inside my cozy home, outlined by tulip-laden flower beds. I’m full of determination to change the world, touch the top, and spread my over flowing joy with all those I meet.

The next morning, I wake up as the same person with the same life, but looking at my hand from a different perspective. I’m a lonely young lady. The pillow beside me remains empty night after night. I watch as friends and family spill over with happiness as their little ones come into the world, while I remain childless with no hope in sight. I work 65 hours a week, paycheck to paycheck, and barely pay the bills with a master’s degree. My car is having problems. I’m gaining weight. I have varicose veins. My skin is getting age spots. Life gave me lemons, and I threw them away because yellow lemons don’t make pink lemonade.

And they tell us to play the cards were dealt…

A deck comes with 52 cards, I think. There’s no one set of rules. You have games like black jack’ where color nor suit matters, as long as you can calculate a sum of 21. Oddly enough, ladies are encouraged to find a jack for this one. Then there are games like poker, where every intricate detail of each and every card holds meaning. Even more complication is inflicted when we get outside the realm of traditional playing cards; Phase 10, Uno, and Skip-Bo. Whatever happened to the Go-Fish days?

I comprehend the fact that my cards must be played, but I’m becoming famous for playing the wrong card at the wrong time. I don’t fully comprehend the game, and therefore am often clueless as how to play. Some days I’m confident and step out on faith. Others, I’m terrified to make the wrong move. Even more so, my greatest fear is that my hand isn’t strong enough to play.

There’s an elephant on my chest. My blood pressure rises crimson up my neck and face, even to my ears. I can’t breathe. The anxiety causes my heart to be so loudly, strongly, and quickly that I can watch my skin protrude… not again. An anxious queen of hearts; some that feel, some numb, some broken, some hopeful for a King, a diamond, and anything red.

A handful of cards for a game I don’t want to play.

End in Sight

Payton M. Ishmael

It seems to me, when the completion of any project, goal, or task is in sight, I suddenly am fulfilled with a strong and pertinent second wind. My momentum and drive kicks in to full gear. My determination switches into 4-wheel drive. I learned the meaning of that term just last weekend. For those illiterate in the terms of automotives like I am, it means that all 4 wheels are rolling so the vehicle doesn’t have to rely on just two wheels to do all the work.

Case in point #1.

I’m currently training for a marathon which requires, obviously, that I run a lot. Each day, I set out on the back-roads of Van Zandt County and run aimlessly until 1.) my iPod flashes ‘low battery’ or 2.) my hip indicates that I’m no longer a teenager. It’s interesting to me, whether I run 5,10, 15, or even more miles, as soon as my driveway is in sight, I’m sprinting as fast as my squatty legs will go. Why? I suppose it’s because the end is in sight. Victory is won. I know I can make it.

Case in point #2.

Tomorrow, at long last, is my final day of grad school as far as my master’s degree is concerned. I can honestly say, that a few, short months ago, I was burned out, bored, and wondering if all the time consumed by my classes was worth it. The last couple weeks, however, the countdown has been steadily ticking and as a result, I’ve submitted all assignments days and sometimes weeks before they’re due. Why? Once again, the end is in sight. My degree will soon be conferred. I’ve accomplished what I set out to do.

An Exception to the Rule

Then, of course, there’s the exception. Unfortunately, not all our endeavors provide a gleaming porch light or a fancy piece of paper indicating the end is near. If this were the case, perhaps we’d all finish strong in the end. Instead, there are many instances where we’re taken by surprise, including our most important ambition of all. “Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come.” –Matthew 24:42 For this, we won’t have the opportunity to kick it in to full speed. In a race where you can’t see the checkered flag, it’s best to sprint it out and give it your best for the entire race. This is the finish line worth crossing.

Spiritual Diet

By: Payton M. Ishmael

I’ve seen people play the diet games time and again. I will refrain from sharing my opinion about fad diets, as that is completely beside the point. I do, however, want you to think very hard and select someone in your mind who has made some sort of drastic transformation in their physical appearance; whether it be gaining a significant amount from pregnancy or food, or perhaps they shed a great deal of pounds.

I’m always very impressed by people who set a goal to lose weight and then watch them work each and every day to achieve that dream. Losing weight is hard work. Unfortunately, it doesn’t come with instant gratification. You can workout for hours upon hours, eat very strictly, and even in a week’s time, it’s very unlikely that people will notice any change in your appearance. Instead, these people stick with it, knowing that slowly but surely, their bodies are changing and the benefits of healthy eating and exercise habits are in store.

The same is true of our spiritual lives. Allow me, once again, to be completely transparent with you. I can remember, very vividly, a time in my life when all that mattered to me was serving God. I can remember being willing to do whatever it took to please my Savior. Growing up, I always heard stories of the Pentecostal yesteryear and the miraculous moves of the Spirit. I wanted that more than anything. It was to the point that I inquired whether the long hair, no make-up, tragic attire was, in fact, necessary for me to experience God in the ways that I’d heard about. I was willing to do whatever it took.

Much to my shame, I gained a great deal of spiritual baggage over a long period of time that deteriorated my spiritual health. I picked up a couple of bad habits, a few pounds of jealousy, a little bit of bitterness there, some resentment there, and it didn’t stop. Unintentionally, I became the exact opposite of the girl crying out for more of God.

Multiple times, I embarked upon a spiritual diet fad; giving up this, refraining from that. I wanted to be back in the place I once was; solely seeking the Lord’s purpose for my life. I was pursuing Christ like a fad diet; expecting immediate results. Like Atkins and South Beach, those changes are only temporary. I knew I needed permanent change. It takes time. It’s a daily pursuit. With each day, we must continue working hard. We won’t see instant changes, but a gradual transformation over time as we continue seeking Him, speaking to Him, praising Him, serving Him. Just like lifestyle changes for physical health, we won’t be granted instant gratification, but over time, as we continue to strive towards the cross, we will become all that He intended.

“The more I seek You, the more I find You. The more I find You, The more I love You. I want to sit at Your fit, drink from the cup in Your hand; Lay back against You and breathe, feel Your heart beat. This love is so deep. It’s more than I can stand. I melt in Your peace. It’s overwhelming.” – Christ for the Nations Music

Shaken, Not Stirred

What a week! As many of you have heard, public schools across the nation are facing federal and state budget cuts. School districts will now be required to do more with less; less money, less resources, less teachers. A campus-wide meeting and a district letter informing us that several teachers would be laid off was the kick-off to my Super Bowl week. Followed by a loss of 5 yards for hurt feelings, a fumble caused by an over priced oil change, and yet another penalty for my new front tires. Sound like a game to you? Not even close, that was barely the first quarter. Frozen pipes, lost electricity, and frigid weather contributed to an albeit severe loss of yardage this week.

-TIME OUT!-

In the pregame, otherwise known as the new year, I made some lofty commitments to myself and to the Lord in which I have every intention of keeping. A year that began with a refreshing sense of peace is facing a tumultuous defensive line and it's trying to deter me from breaking through to the end zone.

For the purpose of my pride and ego, I want you to picture that I painted on eye black beneath both eyes, gritted my teeth, and form tackled through everything I was facing. Although that would be a complete and total lie. The truth is, I hopped in my car on my lunch break, pressed the accelerator to 104 MPH (sorry Dad) and headed straight to the refuge of Anna and Poppy's house. I sobbed in panic and despair, tears as big as linebackers and sobs as loud as dog pile tackles.

For several days, I allowed the defense to lay me flat out play after play after play.

Finally, a time out was called from the sideline. "Payton, you're not the coach. Quit trying to run the game, you're being a ball hog. I'm the coach, I call the plays. You're here to take my direction and I'll make a path for you where ever the enemy strikes. It may not be a path you can see right now, but I know this game better than anyone else. Let me do my job."

You see, this week I've been shaken; upside down and inside out. I've seen character flaws come to surface that I need to address. Thankfully though, I've not been stirred. I know I have a purpose. I know I have a coach in the Lord who will call the plays for His glory. I simply have to follow His lead believing in faith that he is the author and finisher.

Just like touchdowns, blessings most often come in disguise.

Status Update

By: Payton M. Ishmael

It was the year 2004 nestled in Cambridge, Massachussetts that social networking would forever change communication for people of all generations. It was here that Mark Zuckerberg launched Facebook, what is now a daily experience for most users.

I recruited a couple of my closest friends this week to conduct a little experiment. I asked them to send me some of the most haunting status updates they saw on Facebook in a given day. For those of you who do not make up one of over 6 million users, status updates take place when someone posts an announcement on their own page, which then filters into a newsfeed that becomes available for all of their “Facebook friends” to see. For the purpose of this article, names have been omitted to protect the innocent. Here’s what we found;

· “Having the worst week EVER!”

· “I think I’ve aged five years this week, ridiculously stressed.”

· “Now add that to a badly compressed disc in my back.”

· “Just can’t do enough :(”

I admit it was extremely difficult to narrow down all the burdens bared and openly shared on Facebook. It seems as if they only got worse as the week progressed. Now, I’m not criticizing these people. We all have our bad days, but there’s a better solution than airing out your laundry or troubles on the Internet.

“Cast your burden on the Lord, and he shall sustain you; He shall never permit the righteous to be moved.” – Psalm 55:22.

Believe it or not, God likes hearing from us. I remember as a child being told to talk to Him, just like I talk to my best friend. He knows our triumphs and troubles before we even face them, but He still delights in our communication with Him. Only He has the answers and the power to bring us through our storms. He is responsible for all the success and joy in our lives. Perhaps it’s time we update our status with the one who really matters, the one who truly cares.

“…casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you.” – I Peter 5:7

Not So Hot Date

By: Payton M. Ishmael

I know they say you shouldn’t mix your personal and professional lives, for this though, I feel it necessary to make an exception. A while back, I went on a date. I looked forward to this time for several days, but all of my anticipation and excitement quickly dwindled when the evening finally arrived. I have a healthy self-esteem, and a great deal of self-respect. That being said, I require at least an equivalent of that amount of respect from any ‘gentleman’ I spend time with.

When we arrived, my date quickly forgot that I was present. In fact, I’m pretty sure that my existence was overlooked. Done, done, and done. A behavior lacking manners is not one I choose to associate with. The poor jerk had committed date-homicide. He noticed everyone and everything the entire evening except for me, and I was his date after all.

Sitting in church last Sunday night, the memory kept coming to the forefront of my mind and I simply couldn’t figure out why. It suddenly dawned on me. I come to church every week (most weeks anyway). My thought process is consumed; “I hope the teenagers are getting something from the Sunday school lesson. Did I remember to proofread the newsletter before I sent it to be printed? I love talking to people before church starts.”

It seems I’m guilty of neglecting my own date, my own purpose, my own reason for attending week after week. As Poppy/Brother Ishmael encouraged us to truly worship, not just go through the motions, I instantly knew that the thought meant something. Our experience when we enter this place of worship should have one sole and solitary purpose. All attention should be paid Him. He should be properly introduced to all who enter. Most of all, He should know that He is loved, admired, respected, held in esteem.

Gentlemen, I hope you’ve learned two lessons today.
(Written for House of Prayer newsletter)

This Ain't Nothin'

Let’s face it. Sometimes worry overwhelms us like storm clouds taking over a sun shining day. As of late, I’ve been working towards taking life’s surprises, good or bad, in stride and crossing each bridge when I get there. This week, I discovered that life’s little miracles can often be granted even beneath a dark, dreary sky.

A couple days each week, I leave the intermediate school promptly at 3:45 to arrive to the eye clinic by 4, where I pre-authorize insurance, schedule appointments, and perform pre-screenings. I’m sure many of you can relate with days that seem to never end; not bad per say, just seemingly endless. When the office was cleaned and closed down, I took the familiar walk through the parking lot to my car. It’s been a cold week. The bitter wind makes my skin hurt and it burns when I breathe. I manage to get behind the wheel, take a huge breath of relief that sleep is near, and start my car.

“Ding! Ding! Ding!” In bright orange letters, which happens to be my very least favorite color, appears the warning, “CHECK ENGINE!”

ARE YOU KIDDING ME!

Initially, I was flooded with a diverse array of thoughts, “Where do I go to get this fixed?” “What does this mean?” “How much is going to cost?” “WHY IS THE WORLD OUT TO GET ME???”
I did what any girl would do, the same thing I do to my phone and my computer when they have sudden glitches. I turned it off, and then right back on. To my dismay, the tacky message remained. I was forced to resort to PLAN B: ignore it and worry about it tomorrow. I mean, it’s 8 o’clock on a Tuesday night. Car shops aren’t going to be open anyway.

Car problem; solved. Now, what about my blood pressure? It was time to engage in emergency therapy; loud music, a long run, and a deep hydrating facial mask. I appreciate country music for the most part, but it came in especially handy this particular night.

“He said I lost my daddy, when I was eight years old,
That cave-in at the Kincaid mine left a big old hole,
And I lost my baby brother, my best friend and my left hand
In a no win situation in a place called Vietnam
And last year I watched my loving wife, of fifty years waste away and die
We were holding hands when her heart of gold stopped pumping
So this ain't nothin'”

Please excuse the tragic grammar of Craig Morgan, but consider his words. “This ain’t nothin.”
Nobody likes bad days, but without them, the good days wouldn’t be so great. Most of the time, it seems that ‘when it rains, it pours.’ Fortunately though, storms don’t last forever. In fact, doubt, dread, and despair will move out as quickly as they arrived. Be still and know. Life goes on. Things get better. “This ain’t nothin’!”

And now, for the rest of the story…

My check engine light was off the next morning. It was nothing…

Once In a Lifetime

Thursday, December 30, 2010

Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Looking back, I can recall many times that I was a part of something special, something so much greater than myself. At the time, it seemed like just another day. Now, though, I wish I had pictures, or perhaps a recording of my thoughts of those times. Blame it on youth or perhaps carelessness, I let the moments pass; wishing for the next moment, hoping for what lie ahead, never embracing the present for all the beauty it be held.

There are times I can vaguely remember. Memories I know are once in a life time. I had just arrived back to my step-grandparents’ house from the Canton skating rink when O.J. Simpson was being chased for the murder of his wife. I was in high school chemistry class when I heard the news of 9/11. I was in the audience when my baby brother crossed the stage to receive his college diploma. I can even remember the horror that overcame me when I ran barefoot down the hospital hallways when I was informed my mother had cancer.

Other times I regret I have no recollection. Where was I when the Federal Building was bombed in Oklahoma City? How did I feel when my best friend said, “I do” to the man she will spend the rest of her life with? Where was I when she told me she would soon be called “mommy”? These things, I simply can’t remember because I made no point to commit them to long-term memory. Instead, I let the emotion and anxiety go unintentionally with the passing of the moment.

This time, I won’t allow the time to pass without devoting a written record to the beauty of the moment.

It’s the eve of New Year’s Eve and I’m snowed in to beautiful cabin in Durango, Colorado. The trip began Christmas Day with a road trip and overnight stay to Santa Fe, New Mexico followed by another day driving and fun filled evening in our final destination. Our first two complete days in Durango were spent skiing Purgatory from the instant the lifts opened until sunset required they close. Beautiful surroundings, a great time in the snow, and not a responsibility one was tainted only by a single worry; the incoming snowstorm defined by any Texan as a sure fire blizzard.

And so here I am, two days later, in the same exact spot on the couch. Our vehicle hasn’t budged. The front doors can’t be opened for fear of the 5-feet snow flooding inside. I sit watching the snow continue to fall. I’ve never seen anything like this before. I’ve skied more times than I count. The snow, even for a Texan, is nothing new to me, but being truly snowed-in… this is a first time experience.
As we watched the storm move in, I was a little hesitant to embrace the moment. In fact, I instantly wondered what I would do for a week and how in the dear heavens I’d get along with my company. I admit, everything was going better than expected when someone expressed, “you know, something like this will never happen to us again in our lifetime.”

Once in a life time…

I’m forced in to relaxation and solitude from everyone except the constituents of this house. I’m the only person whose phone has absolutely no service; thank you AT&T. I now apologize for my ceaseless texting and inability to separate from my trusty iPhone, because I realize how completely wasteful it is to simply not be able to enjoy the moment. How much time, I wonder, has passed me by because I’ve been texting, reading e-mail, or albeit checking Facebook? Snowed-in lesson number 1, I’ll be rejoining the world less dependent on my little cellular device.
Prior to my arrival, I allotted myself a budget to spend at the town’s fabulous boutiques. I prefer small shops over mall stores that way I don’t show up in the same outfit as someone else. Thank you, Anna. Since the snow, though, is half the height of the garage door, there’s no shopping for me. Instead, I’ve taken complete advantage of nature’s ensemble. Breath-taking mountains accessorized with white so fine it looks like billions of diamonds sparkling beneath the winter shine. Move over Prada, God-a is the true fashionista, and I don’t even have to max out my credit card or anyone else’s to enjoy. Snowed-in lesson number 2, save the cheddah, nature is betta!

There’s no end in sight to the snow storm we’re currently facing. I haven’t seen the sky clear in two days, and the forecast for tomorrow is no different. With all this time on my hands, I’m sure there are many lessons to be learned prior to my departure. I welcome them with open arms. I gladly embrace the timeless elegance of these moments that’ll never come again. Snowed-in lesson number 3, live for today, don’t worry about tomorrow. After all, tomorrow will worry about itself.