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)